Requiem
by Ariana Malfoy- Lestrange
Summary: Draco Malfoy and Cho Chang are both a little lost. And it takes them to find each other to find themselves again. A love story, of sorts, that spans from the beginning of HBP to the end of HBP. And further? Perhaps. COMPLETE.
1. Overture

Author's Notes: This piece will span from HBP to post Hogwarts. The Muggle devices, movies, etc.mentioned in the prologuewill be explained later in the fic...the prologue is post-Hogwarts...be a sweetheart and review, please. They make my day. : )

* * *

Today, I heard a song, and I thought of him. 

It doesn't matter what the song was, it doesn't matter the lyrics, or who sang it, or where I heard it, it matters that I heard it. I don't even remember the song, just that I thought of him.

I closed my eyes, and I was lost, for a moment. In that moment, I remembered everything he ever said to me, remembered every time he ever touched me. I remembered every single aspect of our relationship- if you would call it a relationship- in that one moment.

And it was gone. I opened my eyes again, and continued on with life.

I try not to think about him. Because when I begin to, I begin to taste salt in my mouth, and I know it's time to stop. I don't push myself these days. And oddly enough, it's easy to push him away from my mind, to pretend that he never existed, never kissed me or told me off, or touched me, or changed me. It's easier than I thought it would be.

Sometimes, it physically hurts to think of him, to remember him. It's like an iron fist clenching something tight in my chest, and I always have to stop, and focus on something fixed, something that doesn't move. It goes away, eventually. But if you wait long enough, doesn't everything go away eventually?

I am always waiting. For something. Someone. Before I knew him, I waited most of my life to be alive.

And when I finally began living, life wasn't exactly what I thought it was. Nothing ever is.

He wasn't. Before, I always thought of him as the villain. The antagonist. His father was a Death Eater, he had never displayed any other characteristics than that of Slytherin and those that were commonly associated with evil. He lived up perfectly to his stereotype, never questioning his role in the story. I think he knew what he had to be, because without an antagonist, how can there be a protagonist? At first, I think I fell in love with the idea of him, of who he was, but by the end, oh, by the end, I know I fell in love with the person, no more, no less.

I hesitate to use the word 'love'. He never liked it. And now, I know if he could hear me, he'd scoff in that way that Malfoys learn with their alphabet, and maybe roll his eyes. Maybe. He'd tell me that love doesn't exist, that it's just another clever marketing scheme from the inventors of Christmas. And maybe I'd argue with him, or laugh. Or maybe I'd roll my eyes. Maybe.

Before I met him, I was a romanticist. Don't get me wrong- I still am, to a certain point. Some nights I'll turn on the television, and pop in Breakfast at Tiffany's. I always, always replay the last scene half a dozen times, because it's the best, even with George Peppard's terrible acting- it's just beautiful, if unrealistic. But I think that's what I love about it. The fact that it is unrealistic, that in real life, Audrey Hepburn would not have come back, because it just doesn't happen that way. And in that way, I am not a romanticist, not at all. I don't think it's my inherent Ravenclaw logic that prevents me from being one- I think it's the fact that real love, the love that people really experience, every single day, is never portrayed accurately, not in movies, not in songs, not in poems, not in books. It's something you just can't capture, no matter how much you want to.

I didn't love him. Or, if I did, it's not the type of love you can define, or understand. You could never understand it, I can't even understand it. Love is too simple a word for what we had. Or perhaps it's just what it was, love, and nothing more.

It's been two years. Two long, meaningless years. And still, the memories are here, tucked away in a corner of my thoughts, jumping out at me from time to time like the monster under the bed. I can't forget. I don't want to, but sometimes I wish I could.

They're all I really have left, these memories. Oh yes, I have pictures and possessions, but they don't count. They don't live. Memories do.

Nothing has changed, not really. On the outside, I'm the same. I still tuck my hair behind my eyes. I still have chocolate milk before I go to bed. I still go outside when it rains just to feel the water falling.

But inwardly, inwardly, I'll never be the same. Not ever. I'll never see a gray sky without thinking of his eyes, I'll never see a Vermeer painting without thinking of him, and I'll never read Sophie's Choice again without feeling that fist in my chest.

I don't like to sleep these days. When I sleep, I feel like I let down the wall I've worked so hard to build. When I sleep, I remember. Today, just as my eyes began to close, I heard the song again.

I suppose it would be wrong to call the song I heard a requiem. He's not dead, but he might as well be. I'm not in love with Draco Malfoy; I'm in love with the man he was.

Right after the Ministry bombings, they brought me in for interrogation, and one of the questions they asked, before they gave me the Veritaseum, was "Do you love Draco Malfoy?" Hardly your typical crime scene investigation question, but they were desperate for anything.

And I remember saying, "Yes, I loved Draco Malfoy, but it wasn't enough. It was too much, and it wasn't enough."

It just…gets me. That balding Auror stood there, with his wand clenched in one hand, and put on a terrific show for the people watching from behind the glass. He stood there, thinking that he had asked something real, and those people thought they heard something real, and maybe I thought I said something real, but it wasn't. He thought he could just ask someone, do you love someone, and actually get a real answer. You can't, you just can't.

In the end, it doesn't matter whether I loved him, or not. It does, but it doesn't. It means everything and it means absolutely nothing.

And to me, he means everything and absolutely nothing.

Mostly everything.

* * *


	2. Revelations

**Author's Notes**: So…I actually updated. I'm surprised at myself- I rarely update anything. But I am determined, determined to finish this fic. Determined. To my reviewers from the prologue- I adore you all, I really do. ;)

**blue7**: I don't know if this is soon…but it's updated. This chapter has a little bit of Cho's and Draco's point of view…you're a sweetheart- and also the first person to add Requiem onto their favorites list! Yay! Cookies for you:hands blue7 a jarful of cookies:

**Gwendolyn James**:-gloomps- I am alive! Amazingly. ;) Thanks for the review, darling- it made me smile. :D

**FSL**: I'm an angst writer, you know that. This chapter isn't really sad, though, promise. It's not happy, but it's not angst. In between, perhaps?

**AutumnKate**: Thank you…I will definitely continue with this. :)

Lots and lots of thanks to my new BETA, **Travisty**- you're absolutely wonderful.

Unfortunately, I'm off to Europe for a bit, and will not be in possession of HBP until the beginning of August- meaning that the next chapter isn't coming until then, because this is a heavily-canon based story. So I'm really terribly, terribly sorry for the wait- I might be posting little snippets of other plot bunnies, not so canon reliant...

**Apologies**: Sorry for any Nicholas Sparks fans...butchering of characters (I tried not to, I really did)...those sensitive to language...any Byatt haters...oh, and the style changes drastically...it's much more prose-y. Sorry if you dislike.

Here it goes- don't forget to review: )

* * *

She's late and she knows it, and she hates being late, absolutely despises it, but late she is.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor Slughorn, I was just-" she pauses, thinking of an excuse. She wonders ruefully if she'll spend her entire life thinking of excuses. "Um, I was just-"

Slughorn holds up his fleshy hand, shaking his head. "It's fine, Miss. Chang, just put your books down, and we can get started, eh?" He gestures to the row of grimy glass beakers and bottles lining the back counter.

"Right." She sets her bag on a nearby table, noticing Draco Malfoy leaning against said back counter, scowling darkly, arms folded. She sincerely hopes that he's there for a remedial Potions lesson or something of that sort because he is probably one of the last people she'd ever want to do a detention with. _The last person, come to think of it._

"So, Mr. Malfoy, Miss. Chang, here's what I'll need you to do this evening. These," he waves at the dirty bottles on the back counter, "need to be cleaned, and dried. You can leave them on the back counter; I have a very precise organizational system. Those cauldrons over there," he points to three pewter cauldrons in the corner of the room, " have the remains of…well, I can't really say, top secret Ministry information, you know, Rufus Scrimgeour needed- well, just clean them out, there's a scrubbing brush in the bottom cupboard, that'll do the trick. No magic, I'll be able to tell if you used your wands, and we wouldn't want another three detentions, would we?" He slips his hand into his robe pocket, and pulls out an ostentatious gold chain-watch, glancing at it. "Ah, well, look at the time! It's nearly a quarter past. Must be off, I'd hate to keep Gwenog waiting, you know how Quidditch captains are about tardiness and such." He shoves some papers into his briefcase and takes his cloak off his chair. "Once you've finished, you may leave, of course. It'll probably take around two hours- have a good weekend!" Slughorn smiles, and leaves, as quickly as a man of his size can.

She sighs a noiseless sigh, then walks over to the back counter, and picks up a pair of gloves, and a sponge. 

Malfoy is already scrubbing wearily. He looks different this year, tired- drawn, she reflects. There's less of the old arrogance, more of a darker seriousness that she can't quite put her finger on. It unnerves her, this seriousness. And he's quiet, even odder.

She can't help but wrinkle her nose in disgust as she opens the bottle of sharp-smelling astringent, and gives a slight cough, as she pours some of the bright-green solution onto the sponge, and she begins to clean the inside of a particularly gray jar.

After a few minutes of very awkward silence, only broken by water running, and the sound of sponges on glass, she clears her throat, because even though it is Draco Malfoy, she'll suffocate if she doesn't speak; suffocate in the damp, moldy silence of the cold stone room. "So, what are you in here for?" Her tone is light- as if she was talking to someone she actually liked. She has to marvel at herself. She's getting quite good at being fake.

He doesn't even bother to look at her. He dislikes her intensely, from the first Quidditch match they played together- she had won. And she had been Pothead's adoration, Diggory's girlfriend- no doubt she was _noble_. It made him want to slit his wrists, looking at her, with her hypocrisy, and her false kindness, so he just answers with a freeze-worthy "It's none of your business." Though, being a Ravenclaw, Draco has no doubt that she will soon make it her business.

She has to roll her eyes. Characteristic Malfoy gitness. _Nice to know that hadn't changed._

"Well, sorry for trying to make conversation." And she chooses her next words carefully, choosing which wound to rub the salt in, "I just thought you'd be one of Slughorn's favorites, that's all."

He takes the bait. _If I had been a favorite, I wouldn't be in detention, would I, you stupid twit._ Slughorn, who caught him walking out of the Room of Requirement after curfew, would've issued a fatherly reprimand and left it at that. But no. "I'm not. It's worship-me-because-I-have-a-fucking-gash-on-my-forehead-Pothead, oooo-oooo-I-know-the-bloody-answer-Granger, I'm-so-poor-I-live-in-a-hole-Weaslette, and I-can't-stop-looking-at-myself-nancing-Zabini. It's stupid, their little Slug Club." He scrubs hard on a stubborn spot. " Wouldn't want to be in it if you paid me." It's fairly calculated, fairly cold, but with her well-trained ears, she can still hear the bitterness beneath it.

"Ah."

There must be something in her tone that strikes a nerve, because he sneers, looking up.

"And why are you here, Chang? Did you throw a hissy fit in class because you can't get over your dead boyfriend?"

_Touché. _She turns on the water with more force than she intends, but her voice is still fairly even. "No. I told off Snape, but he had to do something tonight, at the last moment, and told me that I could do a detention with Slughorn instead."

Despite himself, Draco is curious. "Why did you tell him off?"

She doesn't know what makes her answer. "We were discussing the Unforgivables in class…he said something about the Killing Curse, and he made a snide remark about Harry- just something really unfair, so I told him off." She turns off the water, drying the jar with a cloth.

He smirks, rinsing the glass beaker. "And I thought you were still in black for Diggory."

She stops. "His name is- was Cedric." Her movements now stiff, she places the jar off to the side, reaching for another one.

Draco rolls his eyes. "Oh, _sorry_, but I don't think he's really in a state to care about whether I call him by his first name, or not." It annoys him, the air of tragedy about her. _Everything about her annoys me, come to think of it._

She doesn't trust herself to say anything. Because she knows that if she opens her mouth, everything she's worked so hard to repress this summer will come spilling out onto the cold stone floor.

"Will you get over it already? He's DEAD. GONE. My god, Chang, anyone would look at you and think he was the love of your life or something," he says, disgustedly. He turns to look at her, but she deliberately turns her head the other way. "Please, don't tell me he was, you'll make me vomit."

She shakes her head, glancing down, and says, in an attempt to be nonchalant, "Nah, he was just my best friend." Then she looks up again, with hard eyes and a two faced smile that hides the hurt. "But you wouldn't really understand that, would you?" _Asshole_, she adds silently.

"I have friends." He sounds more defensive than he means to.

She has to laugh. "Um, _no_, you have gorillas."

"Yeah, well, you're not doing so great in that department either, are you? Edgecombe turned out to be a back-stabbing little wanker, and you've been avoiding your old entourage like they've got the plague, or vice versa. Name one more friend you have."

She answers almost promptly. "Roger."

"Please. Davies just wanted to bang you."

She doesn't bother to correct him, but instead tucks her hair behind her ear. "Then…" she pauses, thinking, frowning slightly.

After a few moments, Draco laughs too. "God, you really don't have any friends."

"Neither do you," she says, and for the first time during the whole detention, they look at one another.

He looks away. "I don't need friends."

"Everybody needs friends." She dries another jar.

"What for? You can't depend on them. People just never live up to your expectations." His tone is detached, world-weary, but still bitter, she notes.

"Another quote from Lucius Malfoy's book or were you displaying a rare case of creativity?" The second she says it, she wants to kick herself at the look he gives her, but then it's gone.

Silence. Then, she finds herself apologizing, "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring up your dad. I know he's in Azkaban and I was just-"

"I don't care if you bring up my father," he snaps, trying desperately not to care.

She winces slightly. Thinking about it, she realizes apologizing was probably not the best route to take.

"Right. Um, I'm going to start on the cauldrons, if you're okay with finishing up the bottles. I think if we split up the cleaning, it'll get us out of here quicker."

He doesn't respond, and Cho, glad to escape the possibility of another foot-in-mouth conversation, goes to clean the cauldrons. The rest of the night passes in complete silence.

When they were done, she surveys the room with a sort of grim satisfaction. "Everything looks really clean."

He pulls off his gloves, tossing them into the sink. "Way to state the obvious, Ravenclaw."

She refuses to let him get to her. She hasn't told off anyone in three days and she intends to keep that rec_-_"Oh, fuck off, will you? I've had to put up with your snide remarks all night, as if detention wasn't already bad enough. Haven't you ever heard of 'If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all'?"

His robe sleeve is still rolled up, and the skin up to his elbow is completely exposed. And there it is, like a brand against his pale arm, the Dark Mark.

He notices the expression on her face- fear, is it? Draco follows her gaze, and quick as lightening, pulls his robe sleeve down, cursing under his breath at his stupidity.

She hasn't moved.

"If you tell anyone, I'll-" What would he do to her? He doesn't know. So he leaves his sentence unfinished, and just turns away, walking to the Slytherin dormitory. He doesn't look back, but he can bet his entire inheritance that she's still standing there, watching him.

And she is.

* * *

_Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater_.

The thought resounds in her head. She has no idea what to do. _Tell someone_. _Tell…tell Dumbledore_.

_But he said not to tell!_

_Since when have you ever listened to Draco Malfoy? _

…_okay, fine. I'll talk to Dumbledore. _

She has no idea where Dumbledore's office is. _How have I been at this school for seven years, and not know where the Headmaster's office is?_ _Shit. Okay… I'll ask Flitwick in the morning, and go off to Dumbledore straight away_.

_But what if it's too late?_

_What the hell can Draco Malfoy do in a night? He's only…sixteen-is he sixteen? Well, anyway, he has to be their youngest member…I doubt they have anything planned for him. _

She begins walking back to her dormitory.

_But generally speaking, they don't recruit until they're seventeen…just when they come into their own as wizards and witches. So why so early? Special circumstances? Maybe they just needed fresh blood._

_Oh god. He has the tattoo. It must mean that he's been initiated…_

She has to stop walking for a second, has to stop, and lean against a cold stonewall, as the meaning of it finally hits her. _He killed someone. _It makes her feel sick, like she wants to throw up everything inside of her. With some effort, she makes herself continue walking.

As she passes the entrance hall, one of the doors creak open, and she wonders who on earth could be coming in at this hour. Casting weird, distorted shadows on the floor, Professor Dumbledore enters with Professor Snape.

"Professor Dumbledore!" she says, unable to hide her relief.

He smiles kindly, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. "Miss. Chang, how are you this fine night?"

"I'm okay, but I actually need to talk to you about something really important." Her gaze flickers at Snape, daring him to give her a detention for being out past curfew.

"Well come with me to my office, then," and he turns to Professor Snape, "Severus, good night."

Professor Snape gives him a curt nod, and turns to Cho, "Miss. Chang, I assume you did not forget your detention tonight with Professor Slughorn?"

"No sir, I just came from there."

"Very good. Well, good night Headmaster, Miss. Chang." And with a swish of his black cloak, he disappears into the shadows.

"Right this way, Miss. Chang, right this way." Dumbledore leads her up the staircase, and into a little side corridor. There, a little down the hall, is a beautiful tapestry of a phoenix, and entering through that, they end up in a room with a stone gargoyle.

He stops at the gargoyle, frowning in thought. "Let's see…I just changed it yesterday…hmm…ah ha! Cockroach Cluster," he says, and the gargoyle leaps aside, and the walls split in two, revealing a stone spiral staircase that seems to move slowly upwards. "After you," Dumbledore insists.

Cho obeys, and lets the staircase carry her to an oak door with a griffin-shaped knocker, presumably the one leading to his office.

It swings open, and he ushers her inside.

His office is more like a study, she thinks, once inside. There's a warm fire, the chairs look comfortable, and the portraits that line his wall are all in various states of slumber. And there are so many curious instruments to look at. There's even an empty perch behind the door. She also notes the Sorting Hat behind his desk, as well as a large, ornate sword. And the books. Cho, being a true-blue Ravenclaw, cannot help but feel a nice feeling rise up in her when she stares at his bookcases- there are so many, ranging from books on dark magic, to books on phoenixes, to Muggle romance novels.

Dumbledore takes off his cloak, and wrings it before the fire. It's just then when Cho realizes he's soaking wet.

"Professor, you're drenched."

"Ah, yes! Got caught in a little rainstorm…and of course, forgot my umbrella. Well, a little water never hurt anybody."

"You didn't perform an anti-soak charm?"

"Now that you mention it, I suppose I should've…but I needed to save my energy for other things. Sit down, won't you?"

She sat, and he took his place behind his desk.

"And now, Miss. Chang, suppose you tell me what is so very urgent."

"Well, tonight I was doing a detention with Draco Malfoy- you know Draco Malfoy, don't you, Professor?"

"I do indeed," he says gravely.

"Right- wow, that was a stupid question to ask, of course you know Draco Malfoy, I'm sure you know everyone in the school. Anyway, I was doing a detention with Draco Malfoy, and we were scrubbing jars and things for Professor Slughorn, and his sleeve was rolled up- Malfoy's sleeve- and I saw that he had the Dark Mark tattooed on his arm," she finishes rather lamely.

Dumbledore's long, spindly fingers are steepled. He gives a small nod. "You know what that means, don't you?"

"He's a Death Eater." It's almost a question.

"Yes." She can't read the expression on his face.

"But he's only sixteen."

"Lord Voldemort believes as I do- one of the few things we agree on, actually- that age is no measure for ability."

She nods, unsure of what to say next, as she has the feeling that none of this is news to Dumbledore. "Did you know, sir?"

"That Mr. Malfoy was a Death Eater? Oh yes, I've known for some time now."

"And you let him come back to Hogwarts?" Try as she might, she can't keep the incredulity from her voice.

"I believe he's safest here," Dumbledore says simply.

"You don't think he's a threat?"

"I think he can be dangerous, if he truly wishes to be. But you needn't worry. I've got my eye on him. I assume he knows you know?"

She remembers his unfinished threat. "Yeah, he does."

"Well, you will do me a favor, won't you, Miss. Chang? Let us keep this between ourselves- kindly do not tell Mr. Malfoy that you told me."

"Oh, I won't," There's a bit of a silence, and she lets her gaze wander ever so slightly-it's drawn to his bookshelves. "You have quite a collection, Professor."

"These?" He turns to look at them, quite proudly. "Only a small portion of my personal library- books are one of my three weaknesses. The others would be socks and a very strong brandy," he winks.

"I see you read Muggle romance novels."

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore smiles, his blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight. "I'm quite the sucker for a happy ending."

"I despise romantic novels, actually. I think they're the only genre of books I dislike."

"What have you read to make you dislike them so?"

"I've only read one. But I hated it- A Walk to Remember, by Nicholas Sparks?"

"Ah, Mr. Sparks. I must confess; I'm not particularly partial to his works myself. No, you cannot judge the entire romance genre by him." Dumbledore stands up, and goes over to the bookcases. "You should try…let's see…how about Possession, by the lovely Ms. Byatt?"

"I guess it wouldn't hurt," she says, somewhat reluctantly. Realizing the time, she stands. "It's late. I'd better go. Sorry to keep you up, Professor."

"You didn't keep me up at all. Here's your book- keep it for any amount of time you like." He hands her the paperback, and opens the door.

"Thank you, Professor."

"You're most welcome. Do come again, once you've finished Possession- I'd like to see what you think of it. And remember, not a word to Mr. Malfoy."

"Right. Night, Professor."

"Good night, Miss. Chang."

She walks down the stairs, and as she heads back to the dormitory, she realizes that even though she still has no idea what's going on, she feels much safer than she did before going up to see Dumbledore. It's a way he has with people, she thinks. He makes them believe in happy endings.

* * *

He watches her, lounging languidly on a leather couch, while she sits in front of the fire, brushing her hair. It's late- almost midnight, and he and Pansy Parkinson are the last stragglers in the common room. "Do you do this every night?"

"Yes. Two hundred strokes. That's what makes it so shiny, you know," she says, rather matter-of-factly.

"Is it?" he asks lazily. He toys with one of the dark gray braided tassels on a throw pillow.

"Of course. It's a secret, though, so no telling. The girls are convinced I use some über-exclusive conditioner, and I like them thinking that." She continues brushing, her eyes never moving from her hair.

"You would," he snorts derisively. He wonders if her hand ever gets tired. He wonders if she ever gets tired.

"Don't you ever get tired?" he asks, as he watches her run her brush through her hair…seventy-six…seventy-seven…seventy-eight…seventy-nine…eighty… "Yes," she answers, with a slight hard edge to her voice that betrays the all ready grown up girl within, "yes, I get tired."

He looks at her, and he really sees her for the first time, Pansy Parkinson, just as she is, nothing more, nothing less. He sees a girl who will keep on brushing her hair, even if she was tired, even if the world was coming to an end, because it is all she has been taught to do, and she is determined to do it till the end. She is not beautiful- far from it, actually, but there's something lovely about her perseverance, he reflects. Something nice about the steel in her.

"Panse?"

She hates the shortening of her name- hates her name actually, but she'll never tell him that. Or anyone, for that matter. "Yes?"

Draco is not a fan of beating around the bush. Too Gryffindorish, he thinks. Too pointless. "What do you think about us?"

"Us?" She pauses for a moment, the brush stopping in mid-brush. It resumes again, but slower. "I wasn't aware there was an us."

He has to roll his eyes. "Whatever you want to call it."

Pansy turns slightly to stare at him, brush still in hand. "Draco," she asks incredulously, "are you serious?"

He gives her a look. Death Eaters would've flinched under its contempt, but Pansy is used to blocking looks.

"No, are you really serious?"

He sighs. "Yes. I'm serious."

"…Draco, we're not in a relationship, you know that. Or are we and I missed the memo?"

He smirks. This is the Pansy he likes best, the sharp Pansy. Not the simpering fake Pansy, though depending on his mood, he doesn't mind being babied. "Well, not currently, but you know."

"No, I don't."

He exhales, loudly. "Merlin, Pansy. You know perfectly well that when we're older, we'll be married."

"Draco, you don't actually believe that, do you?"

He doesn't answer. He's almost afraid to.

"I mean…I just don't think…I don't think we're meant for each other."

"We know each other inside out," he points out.

"But that's not enough for me. I want…I don't even know what I want, but I know that's not enough," she says stubbornly.

He starts to laugh. "Pansy, you're not talking about…love?" His lip curls. He can barely say the word.

She flushes a deep scarlet. "No, I…I…I don't know. I just know that…I don't even know." She sets the brush down, and bites her lip, staring into the fire.

The mood changes just then, abruptly.

"I wouldn't- I wouldn't hurt you, you know," he says awkwardly, thinking both of physical bruises and internal ones.

She looks up quickly. "Oh, I know that. But Draco, I don't want to marry _you_." She doesn't know how she can say it so bluntly, but there it is.

"Oh." He can't hide the fact that it's a blow to his ego. Then he begins to feel slightly led on. "Well, what do you expect me to think when you're all me over most of the time? When both our families expect it?"

She shrugs and smiles, almost sadly. "Sometimes I just like pretending you're mine, you know? I like showing you off. But deep down, I know that you belong to me the same way I belong to you- not at all."

Draco is silent for a moment, processing this. "People don't belong to people."

She smiles again, this time wistfully. "I know, but it's sort of nice to pretend we do, sometimes, isn't it?"

"I guess." Draco can't imagine pretending. He likes to think that he deals with things as they are- in shades of black and white.

She begins to run the brush through her hair again.

And then, unexpected to both of them, he says quietly "Thanks, Pansy."

"For what?"

"I'm not really sure. But thanks."

* * *

_Out of all the people one must be stuck with while doing tedious corridor patrols, it has to be Draco Malfoy, bastard extraordinaire, and Death Eater. Of course. _

"When is this over?" he asks, not bothering to mask his impatience. _Weasel would've been better than her…okay, maybe not Weasel, but…someone else._

"In two hours," she says, trying not to let irritation creep into her voice.

"Excellent," then quietly to himself, "the whole night will be gone by then." He looks distracted.

"Have a lot of homework?" she's doing her best to be empathetic.

"If you want to call it that." He doesn't look at her. He supposes it is homework, in a way.

There is a long silence, accompanied by their footsteps echoing in the stone corridor. They are on the lower levels of the castle, nearer the dudgeons, and it is cold and damp.

She shivers. "God, you'd think that even in the beginning of October it wouldn't be below zero down here."

"It's not that cold," says Draco, determined to be contrary. And it _isn't _that cold.

"I suppose you're used to it." She means it in more than one way.

He takes it at face value. "I suppose I am."

More silence.

"How long have you been one?" The question comes out of nowhere, and he's taken aback by it. She's shocked at her own audacity. It's a little while before he answers, and for a little, she doesn't think he'll answer at all.

"Not very long, but long enough." It's an honest enough answer, perhaps the most honest he's ever been with her. He curses himself for his honesty. Then, after a tension-filled pause, in as menacing of a voice as he can muster, he asks sharply, "Who have you told?"

"Nobody." It's a half-truth. She's already told Dumbledore, but he already knew, so that didn't really count, did it?

"Sure, and Potter is my best friend." His voice drips with sarcasm.

"Is he really?"

"I could kill you, you know," he drawls.

"I'd like to see you try." She sounds braver than she is.

"Would you, Chang? I've done it before, I can do it again," he says dryly, and she's almost inclined to believe him, but she thinks better of it.

"Do you think you scare me, Malfoy? My god, you can't even catch a Snitch." She puts every inch of contempt in her body into these words.

His eyes glint. "You underestimate me. It's dangerous to underestimate."

"It's dangerous to make empty threats."

He stops walking and glares at her. She doesn't look at him. "You really think I'm kidding, don't you? I could kill you in a second."

She finally looks at him. "Then why haven't you done it already?"

He has no answer for this.

"I'm serious. I know you're a Death Eater. For all you know I could've told the whole school by now. Not that it matters, because they already know, but-"

"They don't." But he sounds uncertain. He damns his uncertainty.

"Well, they think you'll become one, they just don't know it happened already. Why are you even here, anyway? Why aren't you on a mission for your _master_?"

"You're quite the little interrogator." He starts walking again.

She shrugs. "I'm a Ravenclaw, that's what we do."

"Bet Potter hated that," he says it lowly, almost under his breath, but she catches it.

"Hated what?"

"The questions. He doesn't like to explain very much, does he? He thinks he's so godly that he never has to explain anything."

"I honestly don't know him that well, so I have no idea."

Draco appraises her out of the corner of his eye. "Did you use him?"

"As what?"

"You know, a rebound, after Diggory."

"No, I really liked Harry, I did. He's a sweet guy. It was just bad timing, I guess."

"Bad timing? Is that all?" He remembers what Pansy told him- the crying, the fights.

"We…well, I wasn't ready, you know. I guess he was an accidental rebound. It kind of sucked," she confesses.

"What sucked?"

"The relationship, in general. I don't know what we were thinking."

"Did you get over it?"

"Pretty quickly, yeah. I was just angry at him. He could be a bastard sometimes."

His eyebrows go up. "You know, I've called him many things, but never a bastard."

"Well," she amends, "he wasn't a bastard at all, really nice actually. Just a bit…"

"Thick headed? Annoying? Self-consumed?" He can go on, but he stops himself.

"No, more like he's…out of it. And I wouldn't talk about people being self-consumed if I were you."

Draco ignores the comment, and presses on. "Out of it? What do you mean?"

"It's like…you know, the whole hero thing. I feel like he can't really relate to reality, almost, because everything for him is so…surreal."

"Potter can't relate to reality?" He can't hide his delight.

"Well, no, he can, but not my reality."

"Don't we all have our own realities?"

"Yes, but what I'm trying to say is that I am a small picture person. Everything in my reality- everything that really matters- is small. Big events are obviously life changing, but it's the small ones that make my life. With Harry, it's different, I think. He's a big picture person."

"I think you're assuming that only big things matter in his life because that's all you know of him."

"Maybe, but think about it. My concerns are little things. Will I get my homework done? Why can't I find my hair band? His concerns are more along the lines of how he's going to save the world."

There's a pause. "Do you really think he will?"

"Save the world? Yeah, definitely."

"Why? What's so special about him? I never got it."

"I'm not really sure that there is anything so special about him- and that, I think, is why he has a real chance. Fate likes the people who aren't particularly special, as terrible as that sounds. Fate makes them special."

Draco absorbs this. "That was redundant."

Cho looks affronted. "It wasn't!"

"It sounded redundant."

"Well, it's not, not if you really paid attention."

"So, you think the world needs saving?"

"It always needs saving, from somebody or something. And it's always saved the way it's supposed to be saved."

"What do you mean?"

"I believe that everything always turns out the way it's meant to turn out."

He makes a face. "You're an optimist."

"Not really."

"What do you mean, not really?"

"I don't think that everything turns out for the best, but that everything turns out the way it should. It's different."

"If you say so."

They walked in a silence filled to the brim with thoughts unspoken.

"When you say that Pothead is going to save the world, you mean from the likes of me, don't you?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean." She isn't afraid to be brutally honest with Malfoy. For some reason, she feels he appreciates it.

He smiles, a slow Cheshire Cat smile. "Very good. I'm surprised you aren't a Gryffindor." Though he can't think of why, he puts no sting into this remark.

She shakes her head. "Not brave enough. Inside, I'm a coward really, afraid of everything."

"Everything?"

"Well, not everything, but a lot of things."

"Like?"

"I'm afraid of- oh god, I can't tell you. You'll laugh."

"I give you my word as a Malfoy I won't."

"That's not much to go on, but I don't really care. I'm afraid of the dark."

"Really?" He can't hide his amusement.

"Yes, really. It's a stupid thing, I know, and it's really quite shameful of me, but I am."

"Why?"

"Because I can't bear not being able to see anything. It kind of paralyzes me."

"Fair enough."

But she won't let him get by so easily. "And what about you? What are you scared of?"

"Absolutely nothing."

She marvels at his face- perfectly straight. She can see through it well enough, though. "That's a lie and you know it. Tell me, I told you."

To her surprise, and his, he consents. "Fine. I'm scared of dying. That's all."

"That's ironic. You're a 'Death Eater' and you're scared of dying."

He shrugs. "We all are, really. Especially the Dark Lord."

"I think almost everybody is scared of dying. Except Dumbledore. I don't think he's scared of anything."

"Everybody's scared of something. Even Dumbledore," he says, grimly.

"This is slightly off topic, but is that why you joined? Because you're scared of dying? Because he would've killed you if you didn't?"

"No." He almost believes himself.

"So you're telling me you actually believe in this pureblood nonsense?"

"Sure. You're pureblood, aren't you?"

She looks down. "It doesn't matter."

"But you are. So you know. You know that this is ours, this ability. Magic was not meant to be diluted with those of lesser ancestry. There is a reason why only some are chosen with the gift."

"How can you say that when people with not a drop of wizardry in them turn out to be the ones most adept? Like Hermione Granger, she's full Muggle born, and she's the best in your year."

"It's not meant to be diluted," he repeats haughtily, because he doesn't know what else to say.

"So you joined because you actually believed, did you?"

"I wouldn't have joined if I didn't."

"See, that's where I think you're wrong. I think you would've joined whether you believed in it or not, because you're your father's son."

He doesn't like the assumption, not at all. "You don't know my father," he says coldly.

"I know enough of him," she retorts.

"Like what, Chang? What do you know about my father?" his voice is dangerously low, but she pushes on.

"I know he was there." And he opens his mouth to ask "Where?" but he catches the venom in her voice, and realizes that for her, there is only one 'there'.

"Did Potter tell you that?" he asks bitterly. She doesn't answer, and he latches on to her real source with glee. "Oh… so you read it in the Quibbler, and we all know how reliable that tawdry rag is," he sneers.

She glares at him. "Even if Harry didn't say it in the article, I would've guessed anyways."

"God, you're so pathetic, Chang. You had to read it out of a magazine- he couldn't even tell you to your face. And I bet you asked too. Tell me, how did that feel?"

She doesn't say anything. But he can tell she wants to slap him and that her silence is her way of restraining herself. Then, "How was the initiation?" She can tell by the look in his eyes that she's hit a vulnerable spot.

It's dangerous waters. So characteristically, he avoids the question. "You must be the nosiest person I've ever had the misfortune to meet. No wonder Insanely Scarred Boy dumped you." The gray in his eyes warns her to give it up. So she does, reluctantly.

"I think it was a mutual dumping."

"Sure it was. My god Chang, you can't even keep a boyfriend for more than three months, can you?"

She smiles, unexpectedly. "Nah, I'm too screwed up. But you know, therein lies my charm," she laughs.

He can't remember ever hearing her laugh. Not this kind of laugh, anyway. As far as laughs go, it's a nice laugh, he decides- warm and slightly infectious.

"Yeah you are." But he hears the truth in her words, and says, without thinking, "But I am too."

She accepts this with little more than an eyebrow raise. "I guess we're both pretty screwed up. It's okay, though. Sometimes people are better screwed up."

"You think?" It's an odd moment- he sounds almost vulnerable.

"Yeah, definitely." She can't help but smile at him, and for a reason neither can quite articulate, he actually smiles back.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: I am dying to know what you think. Really, I am. I'm a review whore and get quite sad when nobody reviews- especially because with the ever-so helpful Stats, I can see how many hits this story gets. If you don't review, I'm guessing it must be really terrible ...sorry if it is. But you know, you could tell me if it is...-hinthint- :D Thanks for reading! 


	3. Confrontations

Author's Notes: First of all, I want to say, I'm SO sorry it took me this long to update. But I had a good reason, I swear! Anyways, to all my reviewers from Revelations- what can I say? I love you all, and you have no idea how happy you guys made me. : )

**artificial-sprite** : I'm so glad you did- it was my favorite part of the chapter to write. Thanks for reviewing!

**cookies** : Aww, thanks. : D I hope to keep it like that the rest of the way…though I don't know if I'll be able do it…I will try, though!

**Dalia N' Shard** : I'm obsessed with angst too- it's dangerous stuff…gets you all depressed and moody. But it's lovely. And thank you for adding Requiem to your favorites list! –hands Dalia N' Shard angst cookies-

**Magiere** : That is by far my biggest pet peeve in DC fanfiction- that they've been pining for each other since forever. –gags- Thanks very very much for the review!

**blue7** : You're welcome for both the update and the cookies. : ) And thank YOU for the lovely long review. I'm sorry for the OOC-ness…I tried not to, I really did. –sighs- And showing you otherside!Draco was one of my biggest goals for the last chapter- I've very glad you picked up on that. I don't know that we'll see too much of Dumbledore, but you're guaranteed a long chapter when Draco almost kills him. And I did enjoy my trip, thanks. : D

**Tainted-Dreamz** : This isn't exactly soon…but it's as soon as I could. –blushes madly at the rest of review- You are too kind…thanks for the review and the add to Favorites. Cookies for you!

**FSL** : I'll assume you mean "angst". ; ) This chapter isn't either! Expect plenty of angst by Chapter Eight…thank you for the review.

**AutumnKate** : Yeah about HG…-coughgags- erm. They're really cliché, I think, and totally expected but they're not without their cute moments. Now…HC…was nice in post OotP fanfiction. But somehow DC became prominent in my shipping preferences- possibly when I realized that I had outgrown the style of HC fanfiction I used to read. And now it's DC all the way! And I WILL have lots of chapters to put up after this one…I promise. : D

**finalfantasy** : -squeals- I can't believe you thought my characterization was perfect!

–squeals again- I can't wait either. ; )

**Travisty** : Yes, I am a romantic- a closet one at that, but yes, I am a romantic, in the end. Like Mimi! Aww, you're sweet when you want to be. ;P

**anonymous** : I'd love to hear your suggestions! Thanks so much for the very sweet review.

**Serena Goodkey** : Here's a BIG apology for the off-grammar…but I only noticed it in one paragraph or so when I frantically reread it after your review. I'm really sorry though, and will be sure to reread much more carefully from now on. I'll try to keep the chapters just as long! This one is a little shorter, though. Thanks for the add to Favorites- cookies for you. : )

To all readers, some good news: To make absolutely sure that I will finish this fic, I've gone and written most of the last eight chapters. So…really, all I need to do is push through these next five chapters and it's smooth sailing from there. Requiem will be a total of FIFTEEN chapters- not counting the prologue. The first seven (not counting the prologue) take place during HBP. So bear with me. : D

Warning: This is not exactly a plot-twisty story, as you already know the essential plot of the first seven chapters, but things do change post-Hogwarts. I didn't intend for this to be a plot-twisty story, but for it to be a love story. Above all, this story is about love. And I personally think that it starts off really really slow, and I like it better towards the end but whatever. Anyways, Michael Corner and Marietta Edgecombe both appear, along with a host of Slytherins- sorry if they may seem a bit OOC- especially Michael. I don't know, he seems half-OOC half-right…so yes. Sorry for any character assassinations.

And now- I give you Chapter Two.

* * *

It's a cold, blustery night in the middle of October when he first sends her a message. When he's finished, he places the coin at the bottom of his trunk, and changes quickly into his pajamas so that when the other boys come up, he can pretend to be asleep already. 

Drawing the dark green velvet curtains, he lays in bed, staring at the stone ceiling.

Habitually, he runs the plan for the next couple of days through his head. _Rosmerta would receive the message tonight. Tomorrow, on her lunch break, she would pick up the opal necklace at Borgin's, and send a confirmation message. Come Saturday, she'd slip it to the first unaccompanied Hogwarts girl who walked through the bathroom door, Imperiusing her and telling her to give it to Dumbledore. If all went as planned, Dumbledore would be dead by Saturday night._

If all went as planned. The phrase gives him a nauseating sense of doubt. And if all didn't go as planned? 

_Nobody will know it was me. They'll think it was Rosmerta. _

He turns over on his side at the realization of what he's trying to do hits him in the chest.

_I'm planning to assassinate Dumbledore. Dumbledore, the man who they say is the Dark Lord's only real competition- besides Potter, of course. _

It is an honor, of course, that the Dark Lord should ask him to accomplish such a feat.

_A testament to the Dark Lord's hope for my potential._ But inside, he realizes with sickening clarity what the situation really is. He realizes perhaps that he's known all along.

Oh, he's a genius, all right. It's a win-win situation for him. Draco Malfoy succeeds, Dumbledore is gone. Draco Malfoy doesn't succeed, and Draco Malfoy is gone. And he gets his revenge.

He turns again, not wanting to think of what would happen to him if he failed. But I've got some time. If the necklace doesn't work, then there's still half the year or so left. I've got time.

But inside he knows all too well that he doesn't have time, not at all.

He sleeps, eventually, but dreams of death.

* * *

"Cho?" 

She doesn't glance up from her Muggle Studies textbook. "What?"

"There's a Hogsmeade trip this weekend," Michael says, with a trace of mischief in his voice.

"Is there now?" she absentmindedly asks, turning the page.

"Are you going?"

She looks up, an eyebrow raised. "'Course I am. Wouldn't want to miss a chance to get out of this hell-hole, would I?"

"Don't worry," he says, leaning back in his chair, "we've only got eight months left."

"Thank god." She looks back down again, trying to find her place.

He clears his throat. "About Hogsmeade, though. We'll make it a date then, shan't we, darling dearest?"

She laughs at his tone, noting Padma Patil's head shooting up, and says, teasingly, "Didn't I break up with you in July because I found out you were with that Hufflepuff girl?"

"No, you broke up with me in June because you found out I was with Viktor Krum, remember?"

She smacks her forehead. "Oh, of course, you two met at the World Cup ages ago, didn't you?"

He nods vehemently. "That we did."

"And how's that going?"

He lets out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. "Long distance relationships are hard, you know."

"Yes, of course." She laughs again, watching Padma and Lisa twitter out of the corner of her eye.

He follows her gaze, and gives a slight smirk, lowering his voice. "Wonder what tale those two will have concocted out of our little conversation."

"Something about how you left Viktor, no doubt, because he was secretly married to the Bulgarian minister's daughter, and that you were getting with me to make him jealous."

"Again," he adds, "getting with you again."

"Oh yes. I quite forgot that we apparently got together after the last Quidditch match last year."

"Didn't last very long, did it?"

"We're obviously not compatible."

"Obviously. It's crazy though, the shit that gets around. All I did after the Quidditch match was talk to you and suddenly the next day, Anthony congratulates me on dumping Ginny and moving onto you." He shakes his head, smiling.

"Did you dump her?"

"She dumped me. Apparently I was sulking."

"You know, I think that's why I broke up with you too."

"It's my one flaw."

"What does dear Viktor think of it?"

"He likes it actually. He's a bit of a sulky bloke himself, you know."

"Do you actually know him?"

"No, he just looks incredibly sulky."

"I guess."

"Anyways, are you going with Marietta to Hogsmeade?"

"I don't know. We've been a bit rocky lately."

"Really?"

"For a while, actually. Ever since the whole D.A. fiasco, it hasn't been quite the same."

"Understandable. Well, then come to Hogsmeade with me," then catches the look on her face and says with a smile, "not on a date."

"Why not. Just as long as you don't bring Viktor," she says wickedly.

"No need to worry. He's got nothing on you, love."

"Really?"

"Trust me," Michael says, winking, and for the first time in a long time, she believes him.

* * *

"Draco," Pansy says, stopping on her way out of the common room, "you're not coming?" 

"Can't. McGonagall gave me detention. I've got to go to her room in an hour."

"Well, do you want anything?"

"I'm fine, thanks." Draco's never been one to say more than he needs.

"Okay. See you when we get back."

"Bye." He sits for a few more minutes, staring at nothing in particular, then realizes he's wasting valuable time. Quickly, he exits the common room, going up to the Room of Requirement.

I need somewhere to hide my stuff…I need somewhere to hide my stuff. Almost immediately, a door appears. He looks both ways before entering, but he already knows the corridor will be deserted. There were advantages to working on a Hogsmeade weekend.

As he makes his way through piles of junk to where the cabinet lies, he wonders with a tight constriction in his chest if someone has taken the necklace yet.

He wonders if the plan will work. Thousands of what ifs float through his mind and dance around him, mocking him in their truth. He wonders if he is going insane.

Kneeling, he carefully opens the cabinet doors, peering into the total darkness within.

* * *

Meanwhile, Cho and Michael are walking along Hogsmeade's main street. It's a beautiful fall day, and the street is scattered with leaves in a wide array of reds, yellows, and browns. Students are milling about, ducking into Honeydukes, and coming out with shopping bags full of things from Zonko's. 

"Shall we stop at the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer before we head over to Honeydukes and the rest?" he asks, proffering her his arm gamely.

She takes it, and nods, "A butterbeer would be lovely."

"Then after you, my good lady," he says, theatrically executing a short bow, and holding the door open for her.

She laughs. "Why thank you, noble sir," and enters, breathing in deep the smell of butterbeer and meads, and then after a quick survey of the room, she says, brow furrowed, "it's packed in here."

"There's a table in the far right corner. Let's go," Michael says, leading her through the crowded bar. Sweetly, he pulls out her chair for her. "A butterbeer for you, then?"

"Of course. But here," she hands him money, "for my butterbeer."

He sets it back on the table. "No, I insist. I invited you, after all."

She smiles, but firmly places the Galleons in his hand again. "Yes, but this isn't a date, remember?"

He glances at the money for a moment, then grins. "You've got me there. All right, I'll take your money, but I must say, Viktor never offers to pay."

"Shocking, that."

"Dreadful, really. I'll be right back."

She watches him, ordering the butterbeers, saying something to make Madame Rosmerta laugh, when she notices Marietta pushing her way towards the table.

"Hello," she says, smiling uncomfortably.

Marietta stares at her with cold brown eyes. "You're here with Michael, are you?"

She shifts slightly in her seat, then clears her throat. "Yeah, he's getting drinks. You want to join us?" She attempts to make her voice light and friendly, but fails rather dismally.

"No, I wouldn't want to interrupt your date," Marietta says, scathingly.

"It's not a date."

"Sure it isn't."

"It's not. We're just hanging out."

"Look, Cho, you don't have to tell me everything. But you could at least tell me who you're dating," she folds her arms, eyes blazing.

She stands too. "Why? Why do you even care? It's not like we're really friends, anymore, are we?"

"No, I guess we're not. I wonder whose fault that is."

"Don't start," Cho says warningly, and is irresistibly reminded of an argument with Harry last year.

"If you hadn't-"

"If I hadn't what? I know you didn't want me to date Harry."

"You weren't ready."

"You're right. I wasn't. But why did you tell, Marietta?"

"It was dangerous."

"Learning real Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"You're so full of shit, Cho. You only went because you liked Harry."

"Really? You don't think I was frightened, after what happened to Cedric?"

"I don't know. I don't know you anymore. I didn't know you last year."

"Yeah, you didn't."

The two girls glare at each other, each holding back a little, each wary of getting into a catfight in the middle of the Three Broomsticks.

"Uh, am I interrupting something?" Michael has appeared behind Marietta, butterbeers in hand. "Hi, Marietta."

She doesn't look at him, but looks down at her feet. "Hey."

And Cho is struck with a sudden realization. She curses her stupidity for not seeing it before. "Oh god. Marietta, we need to talk. Would you excuse us for a few minutes, Michael?"

He turns to go. "Of course."

"No, you stay here. We'll go to the bathroom. Be back in a few."

Michael sits down, taking a long sip of his butterbeer. "Take your time."

Cho nods towards the bathroom. "Come on."

Surprisingly, Marietta follows. Once safely inside, Cho turns to her, almost accusingly. "You like him."

She looks down at the tiled floor but says nothing.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I thought you liked him. You do, don't you?" she says quietly, wringing her hands.

"Not at all. And I know he doesn't like me. We're just friends."

Marietta finally dares to look up, with unmistakable hope in her eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, really." She smiles at her.

Marietta suddenly gives a little squeal, and impulsively presses Cho's hand. "I'm sorry."

She gives her a little smile, and presses her hand back. "No need to apologize. We were both ridiculous."

A stall door creaks open, and Katie Bell steps out, going to the sink.

"Oh hey, Katie, didn't know you were in here. How've you been?" Cho smiles warmly at the blonde girl.

Katie starts, as if in a trance. "Oh! Fine. Great." She distractedly washes her hands, then leaves without another word.

Marietta glances after her, and says what Cho is thinking, as she is apt to do. "Odd."

"Very. Well, let's go back, so I can practice my match-making skills on you and Michael." She nudges Marietta in the elbow, and both girls laugh, the sound echoing off the glazed white tiles.

It's the best she's felt in a long time.

* * *

Going up to the Slytherin dormitory after his detention, Draco curses, massaging his hand. Two-thousand lines of "I have nothing more important to do in my life than to do my Transfiguration homework" makes him feel as if he's lost most, if not all, the feeling in his right hand. He's itching to find out about the necklace, McGonagall having kept him for most of the day. 

When he enters the common room, he notices immediately that something has happened. Students are clustered in groups, speaking lowly and with glints in their eyes.

He walks over to sit next to Pansy, who's whispering something to Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, and Daphne Greengrass. "I heard it was the Snapes' opal necklace- you know, the one that's been sitting in Borgin's forever."

Blaise laughs disdainfully, leaning back against the high backed chair. "The Snapes? Surely not- they've been destitute for most of their pitiful existence."

Theodore Nott shakes his head, his dark blue eyes serious. "No, they were quite a family two hundred or so years ago. It's only in the past century and a half that they've fallen on hard times."

"What, like your family, Nott?" Blaise asks, smirking. Daphne lets out a little giggle, but then sympathetically pats Theodore's knee.

"Blaise, you're too cruel sometimes, I really don't know how we put up with you," she says, with the air of a tremendous flirt, flicking her blonde hair back so it caught the firelight.

"And you're too slutty most times, but we still have to put up with you, don't we?" Blaise retorts icily, barely blinking.

Daphne stands in indignation. "Well, really." With another toss of her hair, she sweeps across the room, in the manner of a Veela.

"Thank god," Blaise says, watching her haughtily, "I was going to have to strangle her in a minute."

Draco, who hasn't trusted himself yet to speak, turns to Pansy. "What happened?"

"Oh, I forgot. You were in detention. Well, you know that Gryffindor Chaser…she's blonde, a seventh year?"

His mind races for a connection. "No, but I'll pretend I do."

"Well, apparently she was given a cursed necklace today in Hogsmeade. They had to take her to St. Mungo's, it was so bad," Pansy says, with the delight of a true gossip.

Shit. Oh shit. Something went wrong, Rosmerta didn't Imperius her…she didn't give the necklace to Dumbledore. He feels dizzy, but outwardly, he forces indifference. "Oh, is that all? God, and I thought it was something serious. Who did it?"

"No idea."

"Really…hmm, that's intriguing," he stands up, running a hand through his hair, "I'll see you all at dinner, I'm off to take a nap." He dazedly walks to the dorm, his head threatening to explode.

Once Draco is out of earshot, Blaise leans into the rest of the group, whispering conspiringly, "I bet it was Malfoy."

"Don't be absurd," Pansy snaps, a little sharper than she means to, "Draco wasn't in Hogsmeade today. And why would he want to do in Katie Bell, of all people?"

Blaise shrugs, his handsome face mysterious. "Maybe it wasn't meant for her."

"You don't think it has to do anything with the Dark Lord?" Pansy asks, suddenly anxious.

He shrugs again. "How I am supposed to know? Malfoy's been acting strange lately. Maybe he's on orders to… to kill someone. Or something."

Pansy stares at Blaise, then bursts out laughing. "Good one, Blaise…because Draco's really a killer, right?"

He meets her eyes with a look that makes her blood run cold, "We're all capable of killing. Even Draco."

Pansy says nothing, only stares into the flickering flames of the stone fireplace, and imagines she sees a terrifying fiery skull with a snake obscenely protruding from its mouth, grinning and grinning and grinning.

* * *

She corners him unexpectedly in a side corridor, that night after dinner. "What the hell did you do to Katie Bell?" 

He frowns at her, folding his arms. "Who is Katie Bell and what have I done to her?"

Her dark brown eyes search his gray ones, looking for answers in their steel depths. There are none, none on the surface. "You tell me."

He scoffs, and looks away. "I don't even know who she _is_."

She won't give up that easily. "But you must know something," she persists, like a puppy. "it was obviously your lot that did it- a cursed opal necklace is a pure Death Eater tactic."

"I'm insulted. We have _much_ better tactics than that. No one's used a cursed necklace since the eighteenth century."

"Sure they haven't."

"And anyway, don't you think that the Dark Lord has much more important things to care about than a stupid Gryffindork?"

"So you know she's in Gryffindor."

"Anybody stupid enough not to recognize a cursed necklace _would_ be in Gryffindor," he says nastily, trying to cover up quickly, "and why do you even _care_, Chang? You two lovers or something?"

"Don't you wish we were." She arches an eyebrow, smirking slightly.

He smiles wickedly, raising both his eyebrows. "As a teenage boy, yes, yes, I do."

She makes noise in her throat. It sounds like something like exasperation.

He shrugs. "Shouldn't have asked if you didn't want to know."

"I didn't ask. It was a rhetorical question. Or statement. Whatever."

There's a little silence, and he watches her, noting how the flickering torchlight obscures half her face in shadow, and lets a thought accidentally slip out. "I don't know why you're so worked up. It's not like you're friends or anything."

Her head shoots up, her face no longer in shadow, but every inch thrown into sharp relief. "So you've been keeping track of my friends, have you?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "You know what they say- know thine enemy."

"Well, then I suppose you should know that Katie and I are friends. Not best friends or anything, but we've known each other for a long time. We used to play together, as kids."

"So? It's not like you're close now. Why do you care about what happens to her?"

"Because. We may not have talked in a really long time, but still. You care about people you care about."

He stares at her for a moment, then says quite bluntly, "You have a bad habit of making completely redundant and pointless statements."

"And you have a bad habit of being a bastard, but habits are hard to break, aren't they?" she asks, rather sweetly.

He smiles, unexpectedly, a gleam in his eyes. "Incredibly so. I suppose I'll always be a bastard and you'll always be redundant and pointless." Better a bastard than redundant and pointless…

"I suppose so."

He leans against the stonewall, then quietly asks, "Is she going to die?"

Cho looks up, wondering at his tone. "Katie?"

"Yeah."

She shakes her head, a little uncertainly. "No, I think they're got it under control, whatever it was." I hope they've got it under control.

He shifts, incredibly uncomfortable. "Well, uh, I guess that's good."

More silence. She watches him shrewdly. He doesn't look at her. Suddenly, almost out of nowhere, in a tone she means as curious but somehow sounds malicious to his ears, she asks, "You never had anyone you cared about die, have you?"

He responds the only way he knows how, sharply. "No, but don't worry, we all know _you_ have. God, doesn't it make you sick?"

"What?"

"Looking at yourself." he sneers. "You've let his death define you, mark you. Change you."

She has to roll her eyes. "Yes, well, _generally_, when your significant other is randomly murdered, you are changed. But I wouldn't expect you to understand that, seeing as you _are_ a murderer."

He feels an intense desire to say something nasty but what comes out instead is almost a blurted confession. "I've never killed anyone, you know."

"Sure you haven't."

"I'm serious. I've never killed anyone."

She shakes her head, not looking at him. "God, Malfoy, how stupid do you think I am? I'm studying to be an Auror, okay? I know the general initiation rites for Death Eaters."

He shoves his hands in his robe pockets. "Yeah, well, I haven't exactly gone through all of them yet."

"You have the tattoo," she points out. "That's usually the last part."

He shrugs. "So I'm going backwards."

"Ah, so You-Know-Who decided to give you a bit of a boost?"

"Hardly," he says, thinking grimly of Dumbledore, "in fact, I would say my initiation will be the hardest any Death Eater has ever had."

"I bet that's what they all say."

"No," he says, shaking his head, "trust me on this one."

She finds it incredibly ironic that this is comingfrom the last person she would ever trust. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why should I trust you?"

"It's just a saying."

"Is it really just a saying? Not a real request or a plea. Or whatever."

"When I say it, it's just a saying."

"Maybe that's what's wrong with you."

"What?"

"That everything you say is just a saying. Just words. You're all words and sentences and sayings- and nothing has real meaning behind them."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he snaps.

"Yes, you do. Nothing you ever say you really mean, or it means something else, or you say what you don't mean, you mean what you _don't_ say."

"You don't even know me."

"No, not really, but I know words. And I know meaning."

"Sure you do."

"Trust me on this one."

* * *

Author's Note: -sighs- I didn't intend for Michael to show up at all. He kind of just barged in, and _made_ me write him, if that makes sense. I know a lot of fanfiction has Michael being a jerk- but he must've been a nice guy if Ginny dated him. And yes, I really do think the whole Cho/Michael thing mentioned at the end of OotP is gossip. She's not stupid enough to get with someone right after the fiascos of Harry and Cedric. Anyways. Reviews are immensely appreciated- they make me keep going! ; ) Thanks so much for reading. 


	4. Holidays

Author's Notes: So. Um. The last chapter had about…a whole bunch of typos because for some reason did not italicize half of the things I italicized…it was italicized when I uploaded it, I swear. I even went back and checked. These sentences were supposed to be italicized:

_Rosmerta would receive the message tonight. Tomorrow, on her lunch break, she would pick up the opal necklace at Borgin's, and send a confirmation message. Come Saturday, she'd slip it to the first unaccompanied Hogwarts girl who walked through the bathroom door, Imperiusing her and telling her to give it to Dumbledore. If all went as planned, Dumbledore would be dead by Saturday night._

_If all went as planned._ _And if all didn't go as planned?_

_Nobody will know it was me. They'll think it was Rosmerta. _

_I'm planning to assassinate Dumbledore. Dumbledore, the man who they say is the Dark Lord's only real competition- besides Potter, of course. _

_A testament to the Dark Lord's hope for my potential._

_Oh, he's a genius, all right. It's a win-win situation for him. Draco Malfoy succeeds, Dumbledore is gone. Draco Malfoy doesn't succeed, and Draco Malfoy is gone. And he gets his revenge._

_But I've got some time. If the necklace doesn't work, then there's still half the year or so left. I've got time._

_I need somewhere to hide my stuff…I need somewhere to hide my stuff. _

_Shit. Oh shit. Something went wrong, Rosmerta didn't Imperius her…she didn't give the necklace to Dumbledore._

_Better a bastard than redundant and pointless…_

_I hope they've got it under control._

I don't know what happened when it uploaded, so very big apologies for that. And so, let us move onto this chapter, which took eons and eons to write because it was being difficult ho. –smacks chapter- But it is here, for you wonderful wonderful people who review- you guys are the best. Ever. :D

**Travisty:** You, m'dear, tell it like it is- and therefore, you are a ridiculous amount of help. I attempted to remove the sap and changed "gorgeous" for you.

**blue7:** Your reviews make me so happy- just the fact that you leave a review is great, but it's usually long and thought-out…and just really nice. Thanks for taking the time, I appreciate it more than I can tell you. But yes. There shall be 15 chapters and they are chock full of DCness. :D

**hi:** Thanks! I'm really really trying to make them believable- I'm trying to keep Cho away from Mary Sueland and Draco from Gary Stuland, though he will stray into it sometimes…but yes, thank you very much. : )

**artificial-sprite:** If I have it my way, I'll work a DC argument into every chapter, save the last one, and maybe a few in the middle. They're definitely my favorite part to write- I'm glad you like reading them! Thanks for the reading.

**Serena Goodkey:** Thanks, I tried. Grammar for this chapter is mostly in order, I believe, possibly with the exception of a few sentences or phrases- the tense I'm writing in is a bit strange. I wanted you to think that Pansy cornered Draco- so yay! Thank you for the review.

**AutumnKate:** Aww, thank you. I've always thought that the bantering is such a key part of the DC relationship, so it means a lot that you think I do it well. : ) I try. And yes, the last chapters are written- mostly done, but they'll take a while to put up. I think the fic will finish around December or January.

**alice-in-muggleland:** -hides- I know, I know, I haven't posted on the ship…I'll do it after I upload this, promise. You think they're IC- yayyyy! –squees and waters Toirdy- Your review was lovely lovely lovely, and you're a sweetheart. Ooo and thanks for the add to Favorite Stories- a cookie jar for you. –hands cookie jar-

Warning: You'll remember some of these parts from HBP- any dialogue/plot taken from HBP is the property of JKR, as well as, you know, just about everything else. I don't bother putting up disclaimers for each chapter because I figure if you're reading fanfiction, you _probably_ know that I don't own Harry Potter. The only reason I'm disclaimer-ing this chapter is because some of the dialogue is taken straight from HBP (the scene at Slughorn's party, and about ¾ of the Draco-Snape argument). And I'm sorry that most of the chapters are sort of character-exposition chapters, but I have to set it up before I get to any action. Speaking of action…this chapter is a milestone- in which a certain Slytherin and a certain Ravenclaw _almost_ have a moment moment. Look for it, mmkay? Mmmkay. I'll stop now. Oooh, but wait. I swear a certain Muggle reference in the first part is NOT irrelevant, though it may seem so.

Leave a review and I'll bake you cupcakes. :D If you don't, thanks for reading anyways.

* * *

One cold night she remembers she needs to return Dumbledore's book. She stands, stretching, watching the snow fall outside.

"Where are you going?" Marietta asks, glancing up from her essay, shaking a red curl out of her eyes.

"I have to return a book to Professor Dumbledore," she says, digging in her bag for the book. _I know I put it in here…_

"The password's Acid Pops," Michael interrupts randomly, from the corner chair.

"How do you know?" she demands, still searching.

"Talked to him yesterday. Head boy, you know," he says, tilting his badge so it catches the firelight, smirking.

She rolls her eyes at Marietta. "How could I forget?" She fishes out the book amid the mess of parchment and quills. "I'll be back."

Cho takes the only way she knows, from the Great Hall, through the phoenix tapestry, finding herself once again in the stone room. The castle is eerily quiet. She shivers, involuntarily. "Acid Pops," she says to the gargoyle, hoping Michael is right.

The gargoyle leaps aside, and she goes up the stairs, not bothering to let it take her up, lest she be late for curfew. She is going knock, but hears strained voices inside and stops. She turns, about to go back down the stairs when she hears Snape's voice, tense and angry. And for a strange reason- she isn't an _eavesdropper_- his tone makes her stay.

"-must be another way."

Dumbledore replies, softly. She resists the urge to press her ear to the door. _If only he'd speak louder…_

"I can't. I'd rather die," Snape says, coldly and clearly. She's taken aback at the vehemence in his statement.

"-must live...too valuable to the Order." _The Order? The Order…where've I heard that before?_

"I'm too valuable? I'm too valuable? Dumbledore, you must be going mad…nothing without…" She can't remember when she's ever heard Snape this impassioned.

"Severus, please. I need you to do this." _Do what?_

"I can't. I'm sorry."

She hears a note of steel in Dumbledore's voice. "You must. Do you understand that? You must, to save yourself and to save…"

"Let us die," Snape spits back, "I can be replaced. He is of no importance."

She can hear Dumbledore sigh. "Severus, the Order cannot lose you and I do not want to lose-"

"Dumbledore," he says brusquely, but she detects a hint of desperation, "we cannot lose _you_."

"Severus, you'll be all right without me."

There is a lengthy silence.

"I don't believe you."

She hears a chair scrape back, and footsteps. The door flies open, and Cho stares, bewildered into the face of Snape. Without a word, he pushes past her, going down the stairs two at a time.

She turns to the open door, glancing in. Dumbledore is looking down at his desk, his fingers steepled. Not wanting to barge in, she quietly raps on the doorway, "Professor?"

He looks up, vaguely startled. "Oh, hello Miss Chang. Come in, come in. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I just wanted to return your book." She holds up the book, trying to pretend she hadn't heard any of the conversation.

It takes him a moment to register this. "Ah, of course. Possession. Did you like it?"

She hands it to him carefully. "Very much. Thank you for letting me borrow it."

"Not at all, not at all." He smiles kindly. "Would you like another?"

"That would be lovely."

"Ah! I've got just the one." He bends down, pulling a slim tattered volume from the bottom shelf. "Here. Breakfast at Tiffany's. Truman Capote. My personal favorite."

She turns it over, thumbing the pages. "It's tiny."

"Tiny, but- ah, what _is _the saying? Oh yes- big things come in little packages." He smiles at her again, his blue eyes bright, and she is seized with a sudden dread- an odd feeling that she tries desperately to shake off. She attempts a smile.

"Well, thank you very much, Professor Dumbledore."

"It's a pleasure, Miss Chang- come for another once you've finished that one."

"I'll do that. Good night."

"Good night."

She finishes it that night and realizes that she's never read anything more beautiful in her life.

* * *

He tries to be as quiet as possible, sidling along the side of the corridor, cursing silently. It had only been in the afternoon when he sensed the possibility of a break-through. He'd tried to work through dinner, but eventually succumbed to the growling monster, intending to leave only for a quick bite, but was accosted by Pansy and Daphne and forced to make small talk for over an hour before he could get away.

It is now just after eight- there is a slight danger in lurking out after curfew, but Draco figures if he's caught, he'll be able to talk himself out of trouble, as always.

When he is just outside the Room of Requirement, to his horror he sees that Filch's cat is walking toward him, her eyes glinting oddly in the torchlight. "Shit. _Shit_," he whispers, remembering that where Mrs. Norris is, Filch will follow soon after. Sure enough, he hears footsteps rounding the corner. He entertains the idea of running into the Room of Requirement briefly, but then realizes he wouldn't be sure if Filch had gone and that it's too late- Filch has just turned the corner.

"What're you doing out after curfew?" He can hear the note of glee in the caretaker's voice.

"I-I…I have permission." He tries to inject the old Malfoy sureness into his voice again, but fails miserably.

Filch folds his arms. "Oh _really_. And from whom d'you have permission?"

"Professor Sn—uh, Slughorn," Draco says, remembering the party.

"You're invited to the little party?"

"Of course." There is it. The sureness, back for a moment, or two.

"Well, innit the _other_ way?" Filch cocks his head, indicating the opposite direction.

"I got lost."

"Did you now?"

"Yeah. Uh, took a wrong turn, and was just trying to find it…" he says lamely, all too aware of how pathetic of a lie this is.

"Shall I escort you there?"

"No, actually, _sir_, I don't think that will be necessary. I'm just going to go back to my common room- extremely tired, and must pack, you kn-"

"No, Mr. Malfoy, I _do_ think it'll be necessary, as Professor Slughorn gave me a list of students attendin' the party, and I don't recall your name being on it!"

Draco draws himself up majestically, concentrating on putting every inch of contempt and confidence in him into "Well, sir, you must be mistaken-"

"I am _never_ mistaken."

"This time you are, Mr. Flich."

He twitches. "Filch."

"Yes, Mr. Filch, I was invited to the party and had every intention of attending, but as of now, I'm-" He is interrupted by Filch unceremoniously grabbing his ear.

"Lies, lies, lies! We'll soon see who is mistaken," Filch mutters, giving his ear a little shake.

"Mr. Filth, _really_."

"Filch."

"Yes, whatever. This could constitute as child abuse- why, if my father ever got word of this-"

"Your father, boy, is in Azkaban. Somehow, I doubt he can be of much assistance to you."

Draco opens his mouth, then shuts it, thinking better of it. He is silent the entire way up to Slughorn's. When dragged in, he can't help but wish the floor would open him up and swallow him whole.

"Professor Slughorn, I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?"

He manages to pull away from Filch's grip. "All right, I wasn't invited! I was trying to gate-crash, happy?" He notices Potter grinning stupidly in his direction. He tries not to sneer.

Filch glares at him, his jowls quivering. "No, I'm not! You're in trouble, you are! Didn't the headmaster say that nighttime prowling's out, unless you've got permission, didn't he, eh?"

Slughorn gives a little cough. "That's all right, Argus, that's all right. It's Christmas, and it's not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we'll forget any punishment; you may stay, Draco," he says graciously, and it takes all of Draco's strength not to grimace.

He manages a sort of grim, but composed smile. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate this very much-"

Slughorn waves his porcine hand in the air. "It's nothing, nothing. I did know your grandfather, after all…"

"He always spoke very highly of you, sir. Said you were the best potions-maker he'd ever known." His grandfather, of course, had said Slughorn was a corpulent piece of lard, but Draco figures it's close enough.

Snape gives him a look, "I'd like a word with you, Draco."

"Oh now, Severus, it's Christmas, don't be too hard-"

"I'm his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard or otherwise, to be. Follow me, Draco," he says curtly, and Draco feels a sinking feeling in his stomach. Unhappily, he follows Snape to an empty classroom. When there, he leans against a desk, folding his arms.

"I've known you to be many things, Draco, but I never suspected careless."

"I wasn't careless," he replies sullenly.

"Wandering around after curfew is not careless? Someone is going to suspect something soon-"

He kicks at the floor, feeling a twisted pleasure in seeing his shoes scuff. "No one suspects _anything_, okay? No one knows."

"Oh really? Then why I have been questioned about YOUR specific involvement in the necklace affair?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Draco snaps. "I told you already, _I didn't do it_."

"You could've been expelled." Snape, being the bastard he is, lets the last word dangle in the silence.

_I could've been expelled and I would've been punished. I get it, I know-_"I didn't do it," he maintains, stubbornly.

"We cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled-"

"I didn't have anything to do with it, all right?" He is getting tired of repeating this lie.

"I hope you are telling the truth, because it was both clumsy and foolish. Already you are suspected of having a hand in it."

"Who suspects me? For the last time, I didn't do it, okay? That Bell girl must've had an enemy no one knows about- don't look at me like that!" He feels his mind opening, and he pushes him back with all his strength and it feels excellent, just wonderful. "I know what you're doing, I'm not stupid, but it won't work- I can stop you!" He can't mask the satisfaction.

Snape is silent for a moment, black eyes glinting. "Ah…Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency, I see. What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master, Draco?"

"I'm not trying to conceal anything from _him_, I just don't want _you_ butting in!" It amazes him how Snape can so easily twist his actions. He knows he cannot have Snape as an enemy but he can't stop.

"So that is why you have been avoiding me this term? You feared my interference? You realize that, had anybody else failed to come to my office when I had told them repeatedly to be there, Draco-"

"So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore!" he sneers.

Another silence. "You know perfectly well that I do not wish to do either of those things."

"You'd better stop telling me to come to your office then!" The words break out of him and he's not even sure where they came from.

"Listen to me. I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco-"

"Looks like you'll have to break it, then, because I don't need your protection! It's my job, he gave it to me and I'm doing it, I've got a plan, and it's going to work, it's just taking a bit longer than I thought it would!" he says, defensively.

Snape appraises him. "What is your plan?"

"It's none of your business!"

"If you tell me what you are trying to do, I can assist you-"

"I've got all the assistance I need, thanks, I'm not alone!" He laughs dryly on the inside because he is alone, he's completely alone.

"You were certainly alone tonight, which was foolish in the extreme, wandering the corridors without lookouts or backup, these are elementary mistakes-"

"I would've had Crabbe and Goyle with me if you hadn't put them in detention!"

"Keep your voice down! If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are doing at pres-"

Draco throws up his hands. "What does it matter? Defense Against the Dark Arts- it's all just a joke, isn't it, an act?" He meets Snape's eyes. "Like any of us need protecting against the Dark Arts-"

"It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco! Where do you think I would have been all there years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if your are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle-"

"They're not the only ones, I've got other people on my side, better people!" he lies.

"Then why not confide in me, and I can-"

"I know what you're up to! You want to steal my glory!"

Snape pauses for a moment. "You are speaking like a child," he says coldly. "I quite understand that your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you, but-"

Draco walks away because he cannot take it anymore and because he knows he can.

* * *

It is the official start of Christmas holidays and Draco is thanking every god he can think of for letting him find an empty compartment. He puts his trunk up, and slumps down on a seat, leaning his head against the window. He is lost in his thoughts and the white English countryside for a good half an hour before the door slides open. He glances up with apprehension, expecting it to be Pansy. It's _her_. He curses her.

"Oh, I'm-" The sorry drops to the floor, because she's really not sorry that she's interrupted Malfoy's little reverie. What she _is_ sorry about is that the compartment is not empty, because she really wanted to have some time to herself. She is about to leave but then notices the look on his face and decides to stay and play Santa's little helper, spreading good cheer to all. "Well, don't you look miserable," she says, sitting down. "What, is You-Know-Who coming to Christmas dinner?"

"No, we're going caroling later, though."

She laughs.

"I'm serious."

"Are you now? I suppose his favorite song is…what, Jingle Bells?"

"The Little Drummer Boy, actually. He's got a thing for little boys."

"I didn't need to know that."

He almost smiles. "Anyway. Going to have a nice holiday?"

"I suppose. I love Christmas and all, but it kind of makes you wish you had a huge family you know?"

"You're an only child?"

"Yeah."

"Me too."

"So you know what I mean."

"I…guess."

"Come on, you can't be _that _anti-social."

"I am not anti-social. I have friends."

"We've been through this discussion before, haven't we?"

"Probably."

"So. Do you have a big Christmas party and invite all your Death Eater acquaintances or is it just a small family thing?

"You often make light of me being a Death Eater. Why?" he asks, bluntly, because he's been meaning to ask.

She's slightly taken aback, tricked into having to answer a truth. "I…I don't know." She stares at her hands. "Maybe that's how I deal with it."

"Okay." He doesn't quite know how to respond.

"I mean, what would you rather me do? I think if I actually treated it for what it is…well, I don't know."

"You couldn't talk to me."

"No, I couldn't. Why?"

"What why?"

"Why a Death Eater?"

"Why a Death Eater? My god, Chang, you're a Ravenclaw, surely you can figure it out."

"I don't know why everybody says that. I'm a Ravenclaw, therefore I must know everything, right?"

"Basically, yes."

"And you're a Slytherin, therefore you must be incredibly two-faced and cunning."

"Am I not?" He catches her eye and she doesn't pull away.

"I don't know you."

"You know enough."

"Nobody ever knows enough."

"A truer Ravenclaw statement I've never heard."

"That's what Ravenclaw is about. Not knowing everything, but trying desperately hard to find out."

"Well, surely you're able to figure out why I'm a Death Eater."

"No, I'm not. What's in it for you?"

"A lot."

"Okay. Let's see. Life insurance benefits. Not being disowned from the family. That's about it." She holds up her fingers.

"Do you think it's that simple?" he asks incredulously.

"I think everything is pretty simple, when it comes down to it."

"I've never heard anything so absurd in my life," he snarls.

"Really? What about the spiel your precious Master gives you, about blood and people and death? I would think that's far more absurd than stating everything's simpler than you think."

"You don't get it, Chang. You really don't get it. Nothing is simple in this world. Everything is complex. Everything is twisted. Everything ties you up. Everything is intricate- everything is gray."

"No. Killing people isn't gray," she says firmly, thinking of Cedric.

"It's red."

"We're color blind," she says to him, her eyes searching his, almost desperately, "We see in blacks, whites and grays. There is no red."

"There's always red. From the minute we begin to the minute we die, we are filled with red. Every day, the sun rises and sets blood red. Life is red."

"So killing is acceptable, then?"

He shrugs. "It's neither good nor bad nor in between. It's a part of life. Some people live and some people die and you can't please everyone."

"You're condoning murder."

"I am not _condoning_ it. I'm saying it's a part of life."

"It doesn't have to be."

"Oh, doesn't it?"

"You have a choice. You've always had a choice," she says quietly.

"I've never had a choice," he hisses.

"You've had far too many and you've let them all pass by you," she says coldly. "If I didn't know better, I would almost say you _want_ to be a Death Eater."

His head whips towards her, gray eyes flashing silver. "Don't you think I know that my career choice is bloody? Don't you think I know it's going to hurt? Don't you think I shudder at the thought of having to _kill_ human beings? Don't you think I _know _all of this, Chang?" he snarls.

She folds her arms, the pupils of her eyes piercing him. "If you're so bothered by it, then why are you-"

"Do you _really_ think I have any other choice?"

"Yes."

"Which just goes to show how much you know about anything," he retorts nastily.

"Why do you always have to push people away?"

"Why do you always have to ask questions?"

"Why can't you just answer the question?"

"Why can't _you_?"

"Oh, sod off," she says, suddenly tired of it.

"You're a hypocrite."

"Maybe, but so are you."

"I am n- okay, we're both hypocrites. Living in a world that thrives on hypocrisy."

"Aren't you cheerful?"

"I'm a Death Eater. It's in our charter to be cheerful."

"Of course." She shakes her head and looks at him with a gaze that adds something to his chest. "God, don't you ever get tired of it?"

"Of what?" he asks, not breaking eye contact.

She looks down, "Pretending. Don't you ever get tired of _pretending_?"

"Don't you?" he says, without missing a beat.

She doesn't answer, popping her hair band hard. It ricochets off of her wrist, coming back hard. "Ow."

"You shouldn't have pulled it back so far."

"I wanted to see how far it would stretch."

He meets her eyes again and the chasm between them closes a little. "I know the feeling."

"If you say so," she replies, imaging him flicking a hair band on his wrist.

"You never answered my question."

"You never answered mine."

"Maybe it because it was a dumb question."

Something in his tone makes her snap. "If it was so dumb, then why did you ask it? God, you're such a fucking parrot, aren't you? Does Malfoy want a cracker?"

He clenches his fist, feeling cold anger seeping through him. "That's a lie."

"Oh really? My father says-"

"Yeah well, at least I'm not still in mourning for Diggory. Don't you get it? He's dead. Never coming back. Ever. You're never going to see him again, he's never going to speak you ever again- he's not coming back. Ever. He is dead. Deceased. Decomposing. Rotting. Don't you get that? Don't you get that the whole school thinks you're pathetic?"

She feels something close in her throat, and bites her lip, blinking rapidly.

There is a moment of silence in which he stares at her. "You're going to cry," he says, slightly bewildered.

She stares out the window, keeping her eyes wide as they'll go. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You were actually going to cry." He can't ever remember making anyone cry in front of him.

"Yes, Malfoy, this might be a bit of a revelation to you, but human beings actually cry. Not that you would know."

"No, it's obviously a Good Side thing," he says, trying to lighten the mood, "Death Eaters can't cry. It's, uh, in our code of honor."

"That's ironic. Death Eaters having a code of honor."

"Well, I'm not really sure if they do, but there must be a rulebook somewhere."

"You should write it if there isn't one."

"I might just do that."

"You'll be the publishing phenomenon of the Wizarding World."

"Of course."

"You might have to get a ghost-writer, though."

"I'm insulted."

"No offense meant, but can you even write?"

He's speechless.

"Kidding. Just kidding."

"You're not very funny."

"I think I'm _hilarious_," she says, smiling.

"Hate to break it to you, but you're really not."

"And we'll super-impose a big photo of you on the cover, so the girls will buy it." She notices the look on his face. "What?"

"Nothing," he says quickly.

"_What_?"

"It's just- well. You think I'm attractive?"

"Malfoy. You may be a complete and total bastard and a Death Eater to boot, but let's face it- you've got a hell of an ass."

"Thank you."

"And you're quite pretty in the face too."

"Pretty?"

"Yes, pretty."

"Pretty?"

"Fine. Handsome."

"Much better." He preens, consciously.

"Oy, I should have brought my pin to deflate your head. I suppose it would've been useless anyway. You know you're good-looking."

"Yes, I do. But you know, so you do."

"I guess. I don't know."

"You don't see it?"

"Not the way they do. I see me. Behind the body, behind the face."

"So you don't think you're good-looking?"

"I don't think I'm as attractive as people tell me I am, if that doesn't sound completely conceited."

"You're lovely, you know that." He's a little surprised at his matter-of-factness, but she _is_ lovely and Draco thinks she knows it. _I know I'm attractive. All attractive people know they're attractive. _

"Oh stop, you're making me blush."

"Not sure if it's physical though." This comes fairly out of nowhere and he silently curses himself for letting it slip out.

It's her turn to double take. "What?"

He sighs. "It's just- not to say that you aren't pretty. You've got a lovely…person. Face. Body. You know. But I think it's…" he becomes a coward here, and shrugs, "oh, I don't know. It's different."

She smiles, more out of nerves than anything. "I don't know what to say."

He looks at her and he knows that this could be a turning moment. "You don't always have to say anything."

She senses she could just lean in and he would kiss her and the world would spin off its axis. She comes dangerously close, but for yet another reason she can't articulate, she lets it alone, breaking the electricity. "Well, thank you."

He glances down at the floor. "You're welcome." He feels strangely drained.

There is a settling quiet that hurts both of their heads. Luckily, the train pulls into the station. "We're here," she says, gamely displaying her observation. They both stand, smiling stiffly at each other.

"So we are. Well-" he holds out his hand stiffly, having no idea what else to do.

She stares at it for a moment, then laughs and impulsively gives him a small light kiss on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Malfoy."

He's not quite sure what to do, and it isn't until she's half way down the corridor that she hears, lowly but surely, "You too, Chang. You too."

* * *

Author's Notes: So…tell me what you think. Reviews are the best. –holds up cupcakes enticingly- Thank you for reading, review or not. : D


	5. Happenings

**Author's Notes**: I am really sorry I didn't update this sooner. I don't even want to count how many weeks/months it's been. I'm a terrible person. I've just been…distracted, you know, with Marie Antoinette and The End coming out- both excellent, by the way, and schoolwork, and Paris and…I'm sorry. Thank you so much for your reviews- they were so, so kind. : D

**Serena Goodkey:** : ) I had fun with that particular line. A lot of this is going to be angsty, so the few moments I get to be not angsty I treasure. Thanks for the review- I'm trying my hardest to keep it going.

**Travisty:** Aww. Thanks- for this and running through grass with me. ;) Here's the rundown- I kept a certain dramatic part, you read that poetic passage because I showed you it before, and thanks for your opinion on "the drunken section" and Bulgarians- because I know you're an EXPERT on those. : D But really. I come to you for wisdom and wit and I changed most of the parts you told me to…most. : )

**blue7:** I'm glad you could! See the electricity, I mean. : D The Breakfast at Tiffany's reference isn't terribly important- not really to the plot, but I think it shows us more of Cho's character, and perhaps later, Draco's, and sort of the nature of their relationship. Hope you liked the cupcake. ;)

**alice-in-muggleland:** I'll water Toirdy to that! -waters- You're too kind, really. Yay, you liked the Dumbledore/Snape exchange! There's more of that in this chappie. Thank yoooouu for the review…

**AutumnKate:** Aww. I'm glad you love it. :D Thanks for the review...

**liger4321:** Your review was so nice…it made me feel warm and fluffy inside. And um, I adore long reviews, so no problem there…the prologue, personally, is my favorite chapter so far. I was allowed to break out of the sparse prose and let the emotions run wild. So I'm really glad you liked it. You get to see a little more of Pansy in this chapter, another side... she's so more than a lot of people realize. And thank YOU for reviewing. edit: just so you know- your second review is really what got me to haul ass on this chapter…thank you very very much for that: D

**tang:** Wow. Flawless is a pretty head-inflating adjective. Thanks. :D

**Lycoris:** First off, love the name- it's gorgeous. Thank you for the two reviews! Here is an update, not very soon, sorry…

**finalfantasy:** The banter is my favorite part. ; ) I'm trying to take it slow, and I hope I'm not taking it TOO slow- Draco and Cho just don't seem to be the rush-headlong-into-a-relationship type of people. Especially looking at where they are emotionally, and all.

Okay, here is my official excuse for updating so late: this chapter was my hardest to write. I think it was because I was adding more characters- you get to see Cho's mother and company…as well as some random Azkaban guards and…GASP! Is that Lucius Malfoy I see in the distance? Narcissa? And a certain Slytherin Head and a certain Hogwarts Headmaster? Cedric Diggory, what?

I'll stop now. ;)

Enjoy. Leave a review if you can.

Oh, and I'm apologizing right now for any OCs. They're generally small and insignificant, but there is a slightly bigger one who may or may not be somewhat important in later chapters…I usually hate OCs, and rare is the fic where I find I like them, but mine are so real to me- I hope they're just as real for you. If not, sorry. Really sorry.

Ooo! This is the I-Spy chapter. Look for…

- a reference to an AMAZING book by Susanna Clarke

- a reference to a certain Sargent painting (one of my favorites)

- a reference to RENT

- two fairy-related mythological references

- why Crabbe and Goyle's alter egos have the name they do.

Anyone who gets any of the above gets cookies! Lots of them. : D

There is also a bit of dialogue taken word from word from HBP, just so you know.

I don't usually do dedications- but this chapter is to a woman in a trench coat, staring out to sea, a very long time ago- I wish I had an ounce of your beauty.

That is all.

* * *

He scans The Daily Prophet religiously, waiting for the gigantic headline that would scream "DUMBLEDORE DEAD!" Much to his chagrin, the newspaper has not yet printed such a headline, and as it is two days before Christmas, the chance of Slughorn giving the mead as a present to Dumbledore is fast becoming slim to none. But he's over it.

Frowning, he tosses the paper onto the polished mahogany of the dining table, and pushes his chair back.

Narcissa Malfoy looks up from the other end of the table. "Draco?"

"Sorry, Mother, I've got some stuff to do," he says unapologetically and almost brusquely.

She blinks. "But darling, you haven't even finished your breakfast," she points out, in a half-pleading tone.

He glances down at the eggs and bacon, and pushes it away from him a little. "I'm not really hungry," he says honestly.

"Well…all right then," she sighs, "but you're not to stay holed up in that dusty library, do you hear? It's bad for your eyes- the lighting is something terrible up there! I keep telling your father we need to renovate it but-"

"But he's in Azkaban," he finishes flatly, and then he wants to kick himself.

She stops, shuts off for a moment, and turns on again. "The Parkinsons and Zabinis are coming for dinner."

"Just send a House-Elf to get me," he says, standing up. Draco goes over to her, and gives her a quick kiss on her cold cheek. "See you later, Mother," he whispers.

She tries in vain to give him a full smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

When he's gone, she picks up her glass of pumpkin juice and champagne, tilting it so that the faceted crystal catches the sunlight. Her face contorts for a moment.

Then, she drops the glass, just to hear it shatter.

* * *

She wakes up at noon and lies in bed for a half an hour. When she finally gets up, she finds the house deserted. She isn't the least discomfited by it- her parents are always running in and out, and on the whole, she finds that she likes the solitude. It lets her think.

After making herself a sandwich, she dresses and Apparates to a small cemetery near Ottery St. Catchpole.

She takes her time weaving through the headstones, pausing to read an epitaph here, a name there. It's not like she has anywhere else to go.

When she reaches his, polished gray stone, just like his eyes, she smiles, and exhales a little. "Hey," she says softly, even though she knows full well that he can't hear her, "didn't bring flowers. Sorry, I forgot. Anyways. Just wanted to visit you. Tell you that I miss you. After all this time, I still miss you." She has to take a breath. "I've been better this year though. Very little emotional outbursts." She pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear and shakes her head, and glances around, "I should've brought flowers. I don't know why I didn't."

She stops, biting her lip, and the words come out of her, in short, tight fragments. "It's been hard. And I hate you for leaving me like this. People are just so…cruel. I mean, I wasn't in love with you. I loved you, but I wasn't in love with you. There's a difference. And I'm not mourning you; I've moved on. No, I'm not mourning you, but I'll always mourn what we had. You were my best friend. And I know that, and you know that, but other people…I don't know." She shrugs, and buries her hands deeper into her pockets, a sad smile on her face. "They think it's tragic, you know. And I don't want to be tragic. I just want to be…normal. I hate this shadow of death hanging over me. I'm trying to be normal. But I mean, the way Marietta says your name…or doesn't say it. I hate people tiptoeing around me. Sometimes it's nice to talk about you, about who you were." She pauses, then clears her throat. "Are. Who you are. And people don't understand that."

A small silence in which she closes her eyes, and shakes her head, deftly switching topics. "Well, there _are_ those who abuse your name quite freely. One, really. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. I know. His father was present at your murder. He's a Death Eater, I know. But I can talk to him," she says, earnestly. She kicks at the ground with her boot. "And in some strange, twisted way, we've become…people who know each other. I feel like he sees right through me. The illusion just falls away."

She smiles, suddenly, wryly. "Jealous?" She shakes her head, her eyes distant. "You needn't worry. You were a god and he…he's just human."

* * *

"What are you _doing _up here?" comes a familiar voice from the doorway.

Draco looks up from his reading. "Hello Pansy," he says dryly, and he nods at the boy behind her, "Blaise."

Pansy steps in, looking around critically. The library of Malfoy Manor is an immense room, more like a Gothic cathedral than a library, with a beautiful gray stone vaulted ceiling, stained glass windows, and polished obsidian floors. Books fill every cranny of the sculpted high pointed arches built to house them. She runs her hand over them, wanting to feel the crumbling, but stately leather under her fingers. "I didn't know you had such an impressive library."

Draco shifts, slightly. "It's declared a National Treasure, actually."

"You're kidding."

"No. We have almost Norrell's entire personal library."

"Who's he?"

"That Muggle who taught himself magic," answers Blaise curtly, green eyes flickering. "Why do you have some Muggle's books, Draco?"

"I…my great-great grandfather, Anaxagoras Malfoy…he collected it all… said we should know our enemies…" he says, somewhat incoherently, gesturing about randomly.

Pansy raises her perfectly tweezed eyebrows. "For a National Treasure, it's in foul order. Look at this dust."

"No one ever comes up here." Draco sets the book carefully on a nearby reading table.

"Not even your help, it looks like." Blaise comments, running a finger along the back of a high-backed velvet chair.

Draco lets the insult slide because he's too tired to deal with Blaise. "Shall we go downstairs?" he asks, smoothly.

Pansy's eyes dart between the two, taking in the tension. "Let's," she says suddenly and brightly, "I'm starving."

"You look it," says Blaise nastily, before stalking out.

Draco frowns after him. "What's up his ass?"

"Who knows anymore?" Pansy says airily. "Come, let's go."

He offers her his arm, and she takes it, and they walk quietly through the portrait hall.

"He's right," Draco says suddenly, feeling her transparency, "you _have_ gotten skinnier."

She smiles tightly, smoothing her glossy dark brown bob. "It's just stress, that's all."

He looks at her. "Pansy-"

"Drop it," she says forcefully.

"I-"

She calmly dislodges her arm from his, and walks quickly away.

He watches her walk away, and realizes that he has nothing to say.

* * *

She walks quickly up to the front door of her ivory Notting Hill townhouse, wishing she had brought gloves. It's almost completely dark and the wind is picking up. She rings the brass doorbell, shivering.

After a few minutes, a tiny gray-haired lady in an old-fashioned black dress opens the door, her spectacles slightly askew. "There you are!" she says, her accent Mandarin. "I go out to pick up groceries for tonight's dinner- for two minutes- and you are gone!" She shoos Cho in, tsking.

"But, Ms. Eileen, I left you a-" Cho protests, taking off her dark blue cloak.

"Ah!" She puts her hands up, shaking her head. "I don't want to hear it. Now go get dressed." She points toward the staircase, imperiously.

"For what?"

Ms. Eileen puts her hands to her face as if asking for mercy from the gods. "The Bulgarian minister of culture is dining here tonight! Your mother has been talking of it for weeks, don't you remember?"

"I-"

"Ah!" She throws her hands up again. "I don't want to hear it. Now go, go, go, they are arriving in a half an hour and oh, the cake has not been frosted yet- GO!"

Cho obeys, taking the steps two at a time. Her bedroom is on the second floor of the Victorian townhouse, facing the garden in the back.

It is a spacious room, softly lit with a small antique crystal chandelier. The walls are crème, gold writing forming a single border around the room. She flops on her bed, a round, canopied affair in the same overtones of crème and gold.

A soft knock sounds at her door.

"Come in," she says, yawning.

Her mother steps in, smiling tentatively. Cho can see that she's already dressed for dinner, in a deep scarlet dress that moves like wine. She's busy fastening one of her black diamond chandelier earrings in, her dark hair elegantly swept up.

"Well," she says, smiling one of her brilliant smiles, "how do I look?"

She stares at her, wondering how the hell one woman could be so beautiful and why the hell none of it got transferred to her. "Like Madame X, but in red," Cho says finally, smiling tiredly.

Rhosyn Chang sits on the edge of the bed, and strokes her daughter's hair with a black gloved hand. "You sound fatigued. What did you do today?"

She yawns, shrugging. "Woke up late, ate, went to see Cedric."

"Ah, so that's where you went. Eileen was having a coronary when I came home."

"I left her a note," protests Cho.

"I know, and the note said you were going to Hyde Park. So she sent poor Mr. Tang to look for you."

"Well I was going to go to Hyde Park, but then I changed my mind. How was work?"

She rolls her eyes. "The usual. Despite what you seem to think, it is not very interesting being the head of Muggle Liaisons," she glanced up at the sun and moon clock on the wall. "Oh dear, it's ten till- what ever are you going to wear?"

Cho stretches lazily. "I don't know."

"You know, you really can be very pretty when you want to." Her mother has stood up, and opened her closet doors, rummaging through the neatly hung robes and dresses.

She laughs. "Thanks, Mommy."

"Here." Rhosyn lays a midnight blue strapless silk dress on the bed. It's simple, with only a slim trim of jet beading. "Keep your hair down- actually, make it a little wavy, wear the jet earrings we found at Portobello and your black slide heels- the ones we just bought at Jimmy Choo. Let me do your make-up, you don't need much, just a little eyeliner, and maybe some mascara. Hurry. I've got to check on the place cards."

"Place cards, Mother? How many people are coming?"

"Just about twelve, dear, but you know how it is. Lydia Kent can't sit next to Acantha Sharp because they've had a feud since last month, Adonis is trying to avoid Aella Agaue because Aella is clingy, Orion Wentworth is madly in love with Phaedra Altrand, but she is rather not so madly in love with him and Maria despises Theseus and Theseus despises Angela because she is profane, but Angela can't sit next to Lydia because she accidentally killed her dog, Evita, and Angela can't sit next to Joseph Lachery because he has a morbid fear of transsexuals-"

"I get it," Cho says, standing up "Have fun."

"I'll try. Oh, and darling-" she pauses in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're attending."

Cho glances down at her dress. "It is the first dinner I've been to in a long time, isn't it? I didn't even think about that. No, I went to Acantha Sharp's book party over the summer. Oh, and Add's nineteenth birthday party too..."

"They don't count. They're big events- small ones are so much harder, I would think."

"I guess." She runs her finger along the beading.

"Have fun tonight, won't you? Try?"

"I'll try."

"That's my girl. I want to see you downstairs in ten."

She smiles at her, and leaves Cho to stare at her reflection in the mirror and remember the girl she had been.

* * *

When Draco arrives downstairs, Pansy is sipping a jewel-toned cocktail quietly, and Blaise is slouched in a chair, looking bored to death.

"Let's do something," Pansy says suddenly, setting her glass on the cherry-wood coffee table with a frenzied, sudden movement.

"Like what?" Blaise asks, examining his already-perfect nails.

Her eyes gleam. "Get sloshed."

Draco rolls his eyes.

"I'm serious. We'll invite some people over, bring out the Firewhiskeys…oooo, we'll mix it with elderflower wine, that's fun…"

"Pansy…" Draco begins. She gets like this sometimes. He can't recall how many times she's seized his arm and whispered daringly, "Run away with me?" or "Dare you to spill your drink on her." Once, when they were six, he had actually climbed the roof of his grandfather's mausoleum and jumped, because she had dared him to. He used to be up for anything.

"We have nothing better to do," points out Pansy, "And your mother won't care, she's practically a raging alcoholic herself-"

"Tactful, Pansy, really tactful," snorts Blaise.

"It's true," she says brutally, her dark eyes glinting, and Draco stares at her. He can't remember ever seeing her like this. There's something dying in her eyes- she looks like a caged animal.

He leans in towards her, and whispers, his face expressionless, "You okay?"

She closes her eyes briefly, then opens them, turning to Draco with a hard, beautiful face, and the words come out, low and rasping. "Never been better."

* * *

"There she is!" Her mother motions for Cho to come over with an elegantly sweep of her hand. Cho makes her way across the slightly crowded drawing room, smiling self-consciously. She nods at some people, and waves at others.

Rhosyn is speaking with a bald, portly, older man in dark burgundy dress robes decorated with various orders and insignias, her hands flying about as she explained something, her engagement ring occasionally catching the chandelier light. A tall blonde stands with them- _probably his wife_, Cho thinks, in stark black dress robes that she recognizes as Peace Price, an up-and-coming American minimalist designer. Whatever embellishment she lacks in dress, however, she makes up fully in jewelry. She's dripping in emeralds, with chandelier earrings, an ornate diamond and emerald necklace, and matching bracelets. To this, Cho goes to, smoothing her dress.

Rhosyn puts a hand on Cho's shoulder. "Dragomir, you remember my daughter, Cho?"

"But of course!" exclaims the older man, his face extremely kind. "And how lovely she is gotten to be," he adds, shaking his head. "She looks like you, Rhosyn."

"Thank you, Mr. Ivanov," Cho says, smiling, "I hope you're well?"

He beams. "Wonderful, thank you. And please, call me Uncle Dragomir." Mr. Ivanov inclines his head to the tall blonde, "My wife, Desislava."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ivanova," Cho says, remembering to add the feminine ending.

Mrs. Ivanova turns up the corners of her mouth in a sort of smile, her green eyes cold. Cho gets the feeling she is somewhat of a snob.

A tuxedoed young man, one of the staff Cho's mother has hired for the evening, comes into the doom, executing a short bow. "Dinner is ready."

There is a general mass exodus to the dining room, but Cho lingers behind, talking with her old friend Addison Gringotts.

He gives her a light kiss on the cheek, smiling charmingly and boyishly. "How are you, love?"

She smiles back, "I'm…all right. And you?"

"Wonderful, now that you're here." He offers her an arm casually.

She takes it, admiring his tux. "You went Muggle!"

"D'you like it?" he asks, glancing down at himself, "Ilsa bought it for me as a gag gift, but I saw it tonight, and thought, why the hell not?" His dark brown eyes sparkle, and Cho laughs.

"I like it. It makes you look different from everybody else here," she declares, brushing off a piece of lint.

He grins, pulling out a cigarette from his inside jacket pocket. She immediately snatches it away from him. "_Don't_, Addison. You know I detest it. And if my mother catches you smoking in the house…"

He takes it back, "Your mother," he informs Cho, while lighting it, "happens to _adore _me." He takes a long drag, and winks.

She shakes her head, deftly plucking it from his lips.

"Have a smoke, if you like," Addison says, almost daringly.

"No, thanks." She opens the French doors that lead out to the balcony.

"You haven't ever tried one, have you?"

"I-" she stops. "No. Don't want to either." She walks out onto the balcony.

He follows her. "Oh go on, try it. You don't like it, and I'll never smoke in front of you again."

"I try it, and you quit- how about that?"

"We'll see."

She takes a quick drag and coughs. "It's disgusting." She promptly drops it out over the iron lace railing.

He watches, with some amusement. "You didn't put it out, did you?"

Cho pales, envisioning the bushes below catching fire. She leans out, _en pointe, _her hands on the rail. "I think it's-"

A sudden push, and she lets out a scream, feeling like she's about to tumble over. Addison grabs her around the waist, laughing. "I've got you."

She turns, hitting him hard on the arm. "You're an ass, you know that?"

He rubs his arm, smiling. "I supposed I deserved that. Can I make it up to you?"

"No. Come on, everyone's already seated. And it's cold."

He smacks his forehead. "Fuck, I should've offered you my jacket, shouldn't have I?"

She goes in, laughing. "It's fine."

They enter the dining room together, and conversation pauses for a moment as a few guests whisper and exchange knowing glances.

"If it isn't Addison Gringotts! Do you know he stands to inherit the largest fortune in England?"

"Well, Gringotts has been doing excellently in stocks this season...

"I thought he was with that little blonde thing, from Johannesburg…"

"Why, how _interesting_ of him to wear Muggle clothing…"

"You mustn't be surprised, Mother, this is the Changs's home. They actually _like_ Muggles."

Cho takes her seat, and Addison follows, sitting across from her. He is immediately engaged in conversation by Aella Agaue, and Cho turns to a stately gray-haired lady to her right, smiling warmly.

"Hello, Aunt Acantha. I haven't seen you since your book party. I heard it did very well, congratulations."

Aunt Acantha beams, fingering her strand of pearls. "Why, thank you darling- yes, we were _very_ pleased. I'm working on a new one- a biography on Merlin."

"That's so cool."

"Yes, we're _terribly_ excited." She leans closer, smelling of roses and lavender, "And you'll never _guess_ who we got to do the illustrations."

"Who?"

"_Euphranor Lorenzo_." This she whispers, in awe, her penciled in eyebrows disappearing into her hairline.

"Really?" Cho nods her thanks to the waiter placing her Vichyssoise in front of her.

"_Really_. You know, he's _just_ had that new exhibit open at the Galleria di Luluca in Rome, and Kitty Guttenheim- you know, of Guttenheimworks- she's _just_ bought **_Nimue Dying_** for about $100,000 Galleons, or so it's _rumored_. That's more than what Aeiko's **_Oberon_** fetched, and you _know_ how big Aeiko is. He's coming tonight, Euphie, and oh you'll _adore_ him."

"Who will Cho adore?" asks Driscoll Edan, editor in chief of The Londoner, taking a sip of his wine, sitting across from Aunt Acantha.

"It's really _none_ of your business, is it, Driscoll? But since you _asked_…" Aunt Acantha begins telling him all about Euphranor Lorenzo, her black lace gloved hands almost knocking over the lit candles in their excitement.

Addison grins at her, his smile slightly lopsided. "So, Cho, love, how's school?"

She shrugs. "It's…the usual, you know."

He nods. "I'm sure. New boyfriend?"

"No, and not looking either, Addison."

"Touché, love, touché. Really though, don't you think it's about time you got over him?"

"I am over him," she says quietly, playing with her damask napkin.

He smiles, again, "Good girl." Then he raises an eyebrow, brown eyes twinkling in the candlelight. "You're looking exceptionally lovely tonight, I might add."

"Thanks. I try." She watches him for a few more moments. "You're drunk."

He takes a gulp of his wine. "You're angry."

"No." She takes a sip of hers. "Why would I be angry?"

"Because I asked about Diggory."

"Cedric."

"Love, really. It's been two years. And anyway, it really was just a schoolyard romance, wasn't it?"

"It-"

"It wasn't like you two were in love."

"No but-"

"It's unhealthy. And I bet you didn't even like him that much. He was in _Hufflepuff_."

"I-"

"You needn't play the pitiful widow here, we're all friends."

"I-"

He stops, giving her a look. "What, am I wrong?"

"Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure. Why the hell not."

"How's the family business?"

"I don't really know, to be honest."

"You're inheriting it."

"Yeah, when my old man dies. Which will be some forty years or so. Come on, Cho, you know- I'm not the working type."

"How could I forget?"

"You're still going to train as an Auror?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"It's not the type of job...god, I hate to sound like my father, but it's not _suitable_."

"For what?"

There is a small commotion, upon the appearance of a small, elderly man.

"Euphranor Lorenzo," says Addison, nodding towards him, "do you know that his-"

"You're avoiding the question. For what?"

He sighs. "You know, us."

"Purebloods?"

"No, oh god no. No, um, you know…prominent families."

"James Potter was an Auror, no?"

He raises his eyebrows. "And look where it got him, hmmm?"

"You're awful."

"This isn't a little tiff that'll blow over in a few months. This is a war."

"Don't act like you know _anything_ about this, Addison. You go out, breaks girls' hearts, and sleep in and you care about money and material shit and-"

"Because you're doing _so_ much more."

She leans back in her chair, disgusted. "You haven't even been touched by this war."

"Neither have you."

"I-"

"Oh, pull the Diggory card, go right ahead."

"I wasn't going to-"

"You were, but whatever." Then he leans forward, his gaze frank. "Listen, Cho, this…war, it doesn't touch people like you or me."

"Yes, it does. It affects everyone."

"Yes, but not us."

"If you mean 'prominent' wizarding families, then yes, it still affects them. Half of the Death Eaters are 'prominent' wizarding families."

"Yes, but they _chose_ to be involved. They _chose_ to be affected."

"No. Not all of them," she says vehemently.

"Oh, because you know one."

She says nothing.

He shakes his head, in disbelief. "I can't believe you have sympathy for the killers of your former boyfriend."

Her eyes flash, then dim. "I don't have sympathy. No, I do. They don't understand."

"What don't they understand?"

"That it doesn't matter," she says, more to herself than to him, "it doesn't matter. He doesn't understand that it doesn't matter."

"Who?"

She looks up. "Nothing. It's just- I…it…excuse me…I'll be…no." She stands up. "I won't be back. Goodbye Addison."

As she is walking away, he calls after her. "Was it something I said?"

Cho turns, stopping in the doorway, then turning, a sad smile on her face. "It doesn't matter."

And then she turns again, disappearing into the darkness.

* * *

"This is fun," screams Pansy, for no apparent reason. Her brown eyes are extraordinarily bright and she is clutching a half-empty glass in her hand. Draco thinks it's her fifth.

He winces at her screech, covering his ears. "Don't scream. Don't." He tries to focus, but everything is blurring around him.

"I can scream if I want to," objects Pansy, obnoxiously. "And anyways, you won't hear me if I don't scream." she says, gesturing to the people milling around, and the music on full blast. She is rather pleased with herself- she's gotten most of their circle here, on no notice.

Draco leans closer to her, cupping his ear. "What?"

"Exactly!" she shouts.

He rubs his forehead. "I'm confused."

"I'm confusing." She tosses back her glass.

Draco shakes his head. "I'm drunk."

"I'm drunking." Then Pansy pauses. "That's not a word, is it?"

"Nope. Nope." He watches lazily as Daphne Greengrass throws up on the new leather chair.

"I was thinking," says Pansy, rather randomly and vacuously. "If I were a pixie, my name would be…Bitsy Twinklebitch. Know why? Cause I'm a bitch. I _really_ am." She nods so vigorously that Draco's afraid her neck will snap.

"If I were a pixie," he says, reaching for a shot of some glittering green liquid, "I'd be gay."

"Yeah you would. That'd be funny. Really funny. Like, HAHAHAHAHAHA funny."

His eyes water slightly as the drink sets fire to his throat. "You're inane," he gasps.

"Yep. Yep. Draco?"

"Yeah?"

She grabs his arm, whispering mysteriously. "Have you ever killed someone?"

He sets the glass down so hard he's surprised he didn't break it. "No. You?"

"No. I'd like to though." She nods towards Daphne.

He pours himself another. "Yeah? Have my job."

"You have to kill someone?"

He pulls up his sleeve, flashing the tattoo. "Death Eater, remember?"

She nods again. "Yes. Yes. Who d'you have to kill?"

He takes another shot. "Dumbledore."

"But he's…like…the best wizard ever," whispers Pansy.

"Yeah, well." Another one. He feels himself slipping slowly away.

"How're you going to do it?" she asks.

He chokes, suddenly, and things swim and crash into each other and meld into one terrible black chaos of noise. He has to lean against the wall. "Don't know. Don't know. Oh god. I don't know I don't know I don't know I can't I can't I don't want I can't I don't-"

Pansy stares at him in alarm. "Shh. He'll hear you."

"Who?" Draco whispers.

"You know. Him. He hears everything."

"No he doesn't." But he doesn't believe himself.

"You're scared." Pansy says, and all things are unveiled.

"Terrified," he rasps, looking down at the floor.

She puts her cheek against his, and embraces him.

He closes his eyes, wishing he never had to open them again.

* * *

She is standing outside, freezing, cold. It's beginning to snow.

She tries desperately to catch her breath, but she can't can't can't can't breathe think can't can't can't breathe. It feels like someone has pressed a firm hand to her mouth and nose and all she can see is the stars, gleaming brightly in the frigid winter sky. She is killed by the beauty of it all. The invisible hand presses stronger and she succumbs, slowly melting into the white ground. It feels good, giving up. Like she's falling into the sky.

And suddenly, it stops. She can breathe again; breathe in great big shuddering breaths that send twilight to every inch of her body. She realizes that she is still standing. She presses her hands to her face and silently weeps, her face tilted upward towards the stars.

An old man watches her from the window, silver hair catching the candlelight. That night, at home, Euraphnor Lorenzo paints a girl in a dark blue dress with raven hair, arms spread wide beneath a star crossed sky.

* * *

"Are you ready, darling?" she asks, calling up the main staircase, her voice carrying through the empty manor like an echo of a dream.

He appears noiselessly at the top, a pale ghost against cold gray walls. "Yes, Mother."

She smiles, sadly, half-wondering at his choice of ivory robes. "Come then. We don't want to be late."

He takes the steps two at a time. "Can't we Apparate?"

"Darling, you know you can't Apparate in or out of Azkaban."

He pauses for a second, his face unreadable. "I forgot. Floo, then?"

Narcissa nods, tilting her pill-box fur cap.

He half-smiles. "You look lovely, Mother."

She gives a little laugh, her gloved hand flying to touch her upswept hair self-consciously. "I try. Do you think this is too much, darling?" she asks, anxiously, gesturing at her dress. "Usually I wear black, but it _is _Christmas…" She gives a little spin, her dark green satin gown floating airily over the black marble floors.

"Father will love it," he says. "Let's go." He offers her his arm.

"Wait. You'll freeze without a hat or scarf. Cavy, get Draco's hat and scarf, won't you?" she calls.

"White or black, mistress?" squeaks the House-Elf.

"Black. Gloves too."

"Yes, mistress." The House Elf returns with a fur cap similar to Narcissa's, and cashmere gloves and scarf.

Narcissa winds the scarf around his neck tenderly. "There you go, darling. And put your hat like so, and don't forget your gloves. There. I do hope you won't get soot on your robes."

"I'll be careful, Mother."

"Well, all right then."

He proffers her his arm once again, and she takes it, as they walk to the great room. A fire is burning already in the fireplace, and at Narcissa's command, Cavy throws green power from a little gilt box on the mantle into the fire. It roars, green flames shooting up.

"You first, Mother."

She steps in, clutching her hat. "Don't forget to hold onto your hat, love. Azkaban!" and she's gone in a instant.

He steps in, holding his hat. "Azkaban," he says, shutting his eyes tightly. Floo travel has always made him sick. He feels the unpleasant sensation of spinning faster and faster and faster and- he lands with a thud, his hands shooting out on both sides to steady himself. He keeps his eyes closed for a moment, then opens them, and steps out, into the waiting room at Azkaban.

It is a cold room, devoid of any decorative touches, or windows. There are blackened iron-wrought benches, and a single, steel door in the corner. His mother is removing the soot from her cloak with her wand disdainfully. "You'd think they'd clean the fireplace more often," she says, irritably, to the guard.

He shrugs. "Not many people come here, Ma'am. Or if they do, they sure as hell don't come through the fireplace," he says, grimly. "Now, you haven't any weapons on you, have you? Poisons? Potions? Good. Leave your wand here, and I'm just going to do a standard weapons and other things check on you." He points his wand at her, muttering something under his breath, a spell that casts a light gray fog over her. "Right then, no liquids, so-" he mutter something else, and this one engulfs her in white fog, "and no magical devices. Right. So, now the boy."

Draco sets his wand on the table, and allows himself to be fogged. When he is finished, the guard unbolts the lone door, and gestures them through.

On the other side, a nervous-looking bespectacled man greets them. "Wh-which prisoner, if yo-you please?"

"Lucius Malfoy," Narcissa says.

He consults his long roll of parchment. "Mmm-malfoy…Malfoy…here. Cell 666. Ff-follow me." He scuttles, beetle-like, down the dank hallway, and up some stairs, and Narcissa and Draco do their best to keep up with him.

"Hh-here. I'll be jjj-just outside." He strokes one small finger against the keyhole, and the door swings open noiselessly.

There are no windows. Just a small, bare cell, lit by flickering candles. Lucius Malfoy sits on an iron bed, looking worn and tired.

Narcissa steps in, bravely, pulling Draco behind her.

He stands.

"Lucius." She kisses him emotionlessly on the cheek.

"Narcissa. And Draco." Lucius claps him on the shoulder, looking hard into his eyes with what Draco supposes is his version of a fatherly look.

Draco gives a nod, barely perceptible. "Father."

"Are you doing well at school?" he inquires, as if he cared.

"Fine, Father." Draco stares a hole into the opposing wall.

"How's Pansy?"

"Fine, Father."

"And Vincent and Gregory?"

"They're fine, Father."

"And you?"

This is the first time Draco actually looks at him. "Fine, Father."

"And your summer assignment?"

"What?"

"Your summer assignment."

"Oh. It's fine."

"Need any help?"

"If I did, I wouldn't get it from you, would I?" he snaps, suddenly.

"Draco-" Lucius says, dangerously.

He puts up his hands, almost as if to protect himself. "No, I understand. You're safe. And I'm the one with the assignment for your stupidity."

Lucius takes a step closer, cold anger etched in his face. "It is an honor."

"Maybe to you," retorts Draco.

He takes another step closer. "What is an honor to me is an honor to you, do you understand?"

Draco shakes his head. "No."

Then Lucius's manner changes entirely. His gray eyes soften slightly, and his voice goes lower. "I know you're scared."

"I'm not scared," insists Draco, lying through his teeth.

He attempts to pat him on the shoulder. "Draco, Draco. It's all right. Perfectly natural, really."

Draco shrugs his hand off. "No, it's not all right. I hope you're happy," he spits out.

"I'm your father." _How could I be happy?_ Lucius wonders.

Draco raises an eyebrow. "Unfortunately."

Lucius's tone is that of disbelief. "Have you taken ill?"

"Maybe I've only just gotten better."

"Draco."

"What?"

"I don't think you understand."

"I think I do."

"You could die."

"I know."

"That doesn't frighten you?"

"Living frightens me."

"Draco-" But he's too late. Draco is gone.

He pauses, runs his tongue along his lips, then turns to Narcissa. "When did this start?"

She looks directly at him. "Since you were imprisoned."

He nods once. "I see."

She shakes her head, her voice caught in her throat. "I wish you did."

"Narcissa-"

But she puts up a hand to ward him off. The back of the other she presses against her mouth, and she blinks rapidly, trying not to cry. "It's fine. I just…get worried sometimes, you know."

He places a light hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to look at him. "You needn't be. Everything will be-"

She silences him by placing her finger on his lips. "It's all right, you don't have to pretend. You don't know how everything will turn out anymore than I do." She traces her finger slowly over his lower cheek, then drops her hand. "Goodbye Lucius."

He says nothing, only watches her walk away.

Draco is waiting for her, just outside the cell, his face expressionless.

"Draco, darling, I wish you wouldn't speak to your father that way," she says reproachfully as they walk down the stairs.

What comes out first, rather nastily is "You and I both wish for a lot of things, Mother, don't we?" then, after a long pause, a subdued "I'm sorry, I'm tired."

She stops, and caresses his face, her blue eyes gentle. "Oh, darling. You're growing up so fast."

"Mother," he says, his gaze jaded, and his voice soft, "I'm already grown-up."

There, on the stairs, she collapses, sobbing, and he, being the grown-up he is, tries to hold her.

* * *

She clears her throat. "Never expected to see _you _here."

He raises one eyebrow. "I read."

"I didn't know you knew how to." The corners of her mouth turn up, and he gives a sort-of smile.

"How were your holidays?" He wonders why he's asking. It's not like he _cares_.

She runs her fingers lightly over a section of books, never breaking eye contact. "They were fine."

"No, really," he insists, pulling a book from a shelf.

A hint of a smile plays at her lips, accompanied with a little sparkle in her eyes. "They _were_. Just because _your_ parents are sadistic Death Eaters doesn't mean that everybody else has the same black and bloodied Christmases, you know."

"Yeah, well." He sets the book back with a thud.

A moment of awkward silence.

"It was a joke," she says, finally.

"I know _that_," he snaps. He pulls another book from the shelves, and sits down at a table.

She does too. "How were yours?"

He brushes blond hair back smoothly. "Oh, you know. Shrunken Muggle heads hanging off the tree, Potter disemboweled and served with the pheasant-under-glass, medieval instruments of torture in the House-Elf skin stockings…the usual."

She breaks into a full smile. "Sounds _lovely_."

He flips open the book. "Oh it was. You wouldn't believe how much better Potter looks chopped up into unrecognizable bits."

A pause while she watches him read, then, "You really hate him, don't you?"

He doesn't look up. "Yes."

"Why?"

This time he does look up, incredulously. "_Why_? Why do I hate Potter?"

"Yes…you don't even know, do you?"

He harrumphs, and resumes his reading. "Of course I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do. Doesn't mean I have to tell _you_, does it?"

"Maybe it does." She picks up a quill, toying with it.

"Oh does it?" he asks, then takes the quill from her. "Don't." He is unnerved by the slight warmth of her fingers. "You've got a cold," he says abruptly, looking back down.

She sniffles, for good measure. "Yeah, a little bit. It's getting better."

"Had one too many snowball fights?"

"More like standing out in the snow."

"Why were you standing out in the snow?"

"I was having an epiphany."

He stares at her.

She frowns, then blinks once. "I don't know why I just said that."

"You're weird," he says bluntly.

"Yeah."

He pretends to read, but then looks up. "So, this epiphany…what did it feel like?"

"You know, when you see a sky, or read something in a book, or hear some strain of music…and you feel like…like…like you're dying, slowly, but exquisitely?"

He glances at her. "Maybe."

"Well, that night…it was like that…I just felt strange…odd…like I was a person stretched across all the centuries, past and future…like…like I had been dying and living and dying all this time, without even knowing it."

He watches her for a moment, realizing she's somewhere he isn't.

"Was that unpleasant?"

She comes back, a little bit. "It felt overwhelming."

"You're overwhelming," he says quietly.

She gives him an odd look. "…thank you?"

"You're welcome," he replies automatically, then pauses for an instant. "Did I just say-"

"I'm overwhelming?" She smiles. "Yes."

His brow furrows. "I'm sorry. I've been saying a lot of odd things lately."

She smiles, again. "Join the club. What are you reading?"

He looks down, almost as if he has to remember what he's reading. "Oh, just a book about… meads. Checking something."

She raises her eyebrows. "Looking to go into the brewery business?"

"Of course. It's the only thing I'm suited for, really," he says, dryly.

She winks. "I can tell."

"Can you?"

"Yes, always," she says, simply. "With you, at least."

* * *

"Saw you in the Library today." Michael says to her during dinner.

She takes a sip of her pumpkin juice, raising her eyebrows. "Stalking me now?"

"Naturally. But really, why were you talking to Malfoy?"

She sets down her goblet, and laughs. "Is it a crime to talk to somebody?"

He meets her eyes. "When that someone happens to be Draco Malfoy, yes."

She looks down. "You don't even know him."

"Do you?"

"I…"

"Didn't think so." A pause, then he reaches for mince pie.

"He's _okay_," she says, somewhat haltingly, "I know you think I'm mad, but he's _okay_."

Michael shakes his head. "I just don't want you to get mixed up in any of it."

"I'm not going to. We just talk, that's all. Don't worry, it's nothing."

"Really?" His gaze challenges hers.

"Yes, really. It's nothing. Just nothing."

* * *

"_What_ happened?" Pansy shrieks, even though she knows all too well what happened.

Daphne is about to whisper again in her ear, but Pansy shoos her away. "No, you stupid twit, I _know_ what happened."

Her pretty face is puzzled. "Then why did you-"

Pansy rolls her eyes. "Forget it. Where's Draco?"

Daphne shrugs. Then, Theodore Nott chimes in, lowly, from an armchair in the corner. "Library."

Pansy whirls around. "The Library? _Why_?"

"Because I had some studying to do," Draco himself says, appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

"Oh. Well, did you hear- Weasel's been poisoned!"

He struggles to react. "Thank god someone finally decided to do it. Hopefully Pothead's next."

Draco takes a seat in the corner, and closes his eyes for two seconds. _I didn't expect the mead to work anyway. At best, I expected Slughorn to be poisoned. So Weasel gets poisoned instead- even better. The cabinet though. I really need to get working on the cabinet._

He exhales, and opens his eyes.

Then she turns to him. "Draco."

He watches the fire, exhausted. "Pansy."

She speaks lowly, glancing around the common room. "Do you know who's been doing this?"

"What?"

"The student…happenings. First that Bell girl, now Weasley…"

"Pansy," he asks slowly, "you're not worried about them, are you?"

"No. I just… It's just- it doesn't seem right." She won't look at him.

"What doesn't seem right?"

"Why are there attacks on students? They're not fighting this war."

"They're not attacks. That girl with the cursed necklace- it was a freak accident. And you know Weasel- too dumb to know his own name, probably drank out of a bottle labeled 'poison' and thought it was mead."

"How did you know it was mead?"

"I didn't. I'm just using a random example."

She bites her lip. "Okay. I just-all I wanted to do was…forget it."

"What?"

"I just wanted to…I don't know, be there for you."

"I didn't do it."

"We're friends, aren't we, Draco?"

"Sure."

"Friends help each other out. I'm here if you need me."

He closes his eyes, and laughs. "I don't need anybody."

"Everybody needs someone. Even you."

* * *

"Okay guys, so next week is the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game…I'm pretty sure Gryffindor's got it in the bag, Hufflepuff's got a shit offensive this year…so we're probably playing them in the final, which means- no one is listening to me, are they?"

Anthony Goldstein starts up. "What, sorry? Really tired...Arithmancy's been brutal…"

Cho sighs. "Oy. All right, go to bed. No practice next week, both teams have got the pitch booked…I'll take the balls back…good practice everyone."

She walks back out onto the pitch, and is immensely surprised to see Draco Malfoy walking towards her.

"What're you doing here?"

"It's not _your _pitch, you know," he says scathingly. "You done with practice?"

"Yeah, just finished. Why?"

"Just a question." He mounts his broom, and pushes off.

"Why are you here?" she calls to him.

He flies lower, stopping for an instant. "That's really none of your business, is it?" Then he's off, a blur against the darkening sky.

She flicks him off and drags the balls back to Madam Hooch's office, thinking hard all the way.

Draco closes his eyes. It's twilight, and the wind has never felt better. He circles, flying toward the setting sun, over the Forbidden Forest. He passes a clearing, in which he sees two very familiar figures arguing. He brings his broom lower, skimming the treetops.

"You take too much for granted. Has it occurred to you that I would not want to-"

"After all this time," Dumbledore says quietly, "I would've never thought you to be the sort of man that goes back on his word, Severus."

"I never…"

Dumbledore waves away the protest with his hand. "And there's another thing I want to talk to you about- Flitwick has been asking me about you- he seems to think you haven't been making adequate investigations."

Snape throws up his hands, and snarls, "Why bother to investigate when we already know who the culprit is?"

Dumbledore fixes him with a knowing gaze. "You know why we need to investigate."

"Yes, but-"

"But nothing, Severus. You not playing your part could-"

"Could _what_? Could wreck what non-existent trust they have in me?"

"Severus-"

"They don't trust me. You heard what Moody said-"

"Severus, Alastor Moody spent a year locked in his own chest. He's apt to be paranoid."

"I-"

"I trust you, and they trust me."

"Oh yes, because that's the same thing. How can you ask me to work on the side where everybody thinks I'm a traitor?"

"Because it's the right thing to do."

Snape stares at Dumbledore, his voice ragged. "I don't do the right things. I never have. That's why I'm here. Trying to fix what wrongs I've done."

"You're doing admirably," Dumbledore says, gently.

Snape shakes his head. "I've done nothing."

Then there is a loud rustle, and Snape, cursing, throws his cloak up and hurries into the forest. Dumbledore follows, after glancing shrewdly around.

Moments later, Hagrid appears out of the underbrush, looking puzzled and slightly worried. Then he too disappears, and Draco is left alone, hovering over an empty clearing in the dark, wondering who to believe.

* * *

The day of the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match, Potter practically jumps on top of him. "Where're you going?" he demands, his green eyes fierce.

"Yeah, I'm really going to tell you, because it's your business, Potter," sneers Draco. "You'd better hurry up, they'll be waiting for 'the Chosen Captain'-'the Boy Who Scored'- whatever they call you these days."

Crabbe-as-Veecy giggles, unwillingly.

He stares at Draco and the girls in suspicion, but finally turns away.

Once he leaves, Draco glares at the girls. "Crabbe, Goyle."

"What, Draco?" Goyle-as-Gigi asks.

"Laugh at my jokes next time."

"But they're-" Crabbe-as-Veecy is silenced by a sharp poke from Goyle-as-Gigi.

"What?" Draco demands.

Crabbe-as-Veecy looks hesitant, but finally just says it. "Well, they're not very funny."

Draco sneers. "You wouldn't know humor if it gave you a blow job."

"But-" protests Goyle-as-Gigi, then thinks better of it.

Draco holds up his hands. "Listen, I get it. You guys hate dressing up as girls."

"Actually-" begins Crabbe-as-Veecy.

"_What_?"

"I sort of like…I mean, I don't mind…er…never mind." Crabbe-as-Veecy stares at the floor, bright pink.

Draco pauses for a moment, then continues. "Okay then. Let me try that again. You guys hate dressing up as girls. Get over it. I don't give a shit about your feelings, you'll do what I tell you do or-"

"Or what?" asks Goyle-as-Gigi.

Because Draco doesn't really have an answer, he barks "Stop asking questions. We're wasting valuable time." It isn't untrue. Draco has been having dreams lately that he's in a room alone with a tiny hourglass, that he is forced to watch grain after grain drop until-

Until there are no more left.

* * *

Pansy, having just lost her House five points in Transfiguration, and feeling fat besides, spots two tiny first year Slytherin girls in the hallway, and decides to take out her general nastiness on them.

"You know, Veecy, Blaise doesn't hang around the kitchens much, so if you're looking for him, you're looking in the wrong place," Pansy says, with her best bitch smile.

The first-year gulps and is about to stammer out something to Gigi, her friend, when a door materializes, and Draco Malfoy steps out of it.

Needless to say, Pansy is thrown off. "Draco?"

"Pansy?" Then he whirls around, shooting daggers at the two girls. "I told you to drop the scales if someone comes!" They wince.

"What's going on?" Pansy asks curtly.

Draco glances at her, then clears his throat. "You guys should go into the Room until you're normal."

The girls dutifully turn towards the wall. The same door emerges, and they walk inside. The door disappears.

He turns to her, gray eyes unfathomable. "Pansy, I can explain."

She folds her arms. "You'd better start explaining then."

"It's all for the assignment."

"How come those stupid little girls- Veecy and Gigi- are in on it? And I'm not? Draco, we've been friends since childhood."

He sighs. "It's not Veecy and Gigi. It's Crabbe. And Goyle."

It takes her a moment. "You Polyjuiced them."

He scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah."

"Okay."

"That's it?"

"What else do you want me to say?"

He watches her. "You're angry."

She shakes her head. "No. Hurt. No. Not hurt. You could never hurt me." But Pansy has never been that good of a liar, and Draco can tell she is.

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone," he says, almost gently.

"But I'm not 'anyone.' Or am I?"

"Pansy-"

"No. I guess I've been deluding myself this entire time, haven't I?"

"I-"

"No, it's my fault. I thought we were friends."

"We are-"

"No, we aren't. I don't know you anymore. I'm just anyone to you. I get it, it's fine."

"Pansy, do you like me or something?"

"As a person?"

"No, as a rock. I mean, like _you know_…"

"No, why?"

"It's just- the way you've been acting lately..."

"I've been acting the way I have lately because I've just realized that the one person who actually understood me wasn't the person I thought he was."

"You keep saying that, Pansy, but you know it's all bullshit. I didn't understand you, you didn't understand me. And you know that. We were never friends, just children, pushed together by social circles, and parents. I don't need to tell you everything. I don't need to tell you _anything_. It's none of your business. Whether you live or die, what your thoughts are, what you think of me- I don't really give a fuck. You don't matter to me, please stop acting like you do."

She walks away before he can see the tears, runs into the nearest bathroom, and flings herself on the cold tile floor, trying to make herself throw up. She heaves and gulps and coughs and sobs, but for the first time in a long time, nothing will come. So she sits against the wall, tears streaming silently down her face, realizing that, for once, she has no control over anything.

* * *

"I know you poisoned him," she says fiercely, almost pinning him to the wall.

He raises his eyebrows. "I haven't the slightest idea of what you're talking about."

"I saw you, Malfoy. You were looking up meads days before. Ron Weasley drank poisoned mead."

He shrugs. "Coincidence."

"I don't think so. I think you tried to poison him."

"I think you're wrong."

"I think I'm right and I think you're working on orders from You-Know-Who."

"Why would the Dark Lord want to kill Weasley? I mean, yes, he's unattractive, but look, Granger's still ali-"

"I don't know why your master would want to kill Ronald Weasley. You're the Death Eater, you should know."

"I didn't do it," he insists.

She shakes her head. "I don't know who you think you're kidding Draco, but you're not cut out for this sort of thing."

"I was raised to be," he says quietly.

"Doesn't matter where you're coming from, but where you're going."

"Put that on a motivational speech."

"You don't get it. They want…they want a Death Eater, a servant, a monster, and you…you're just…just…" she falters here, looking a little lost.

"Human. I'm just human," he says lowly, staring at the floor.

"…yeah." Inexplicably, she reaches for his arm. "May I?"

He does nothing.

After a moment's hesitation, she gently takes his wrist, bringing his arm towards her. She turns it, pushing the sleeve up so that the Dark Mark is visible. She traces it with one finger. "This doesn't change you. It doesn't make you one of them."

He can't look at her. "It does. It makes me his property, his slave, his- it makes me his."

"No. It will only make you his if you allow it to. Otherwise, it's just a tattoo. But if you let it…it will destroy you."

He finally looks at her. "You're going to destroy me," he says, hoarsely, before pulling his wrist away, and walking away, not daring to look back until he can see her no more, until the darkness has swallowed the both of them.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** You liked it, you liked it not, you liked it, you…? Let me know. I'm especially interested in seeing how my OCs (gulp!) are received. As well as Pansy's bulimia. And anything else, of course. Rhosyn is Welsh name meaning "rose" and Addison Gringotts and Ms. Eileen are based off real people who will never read this, so I feel no qualms about telling you that. Don't worry, I've steeled myself for the worst. Thanks for taking the time to read. : D 


	6. Injuries

**Author's Notes:** I have AMAZING reviewers. I honestly expected very little feedback after three months of not updating and a slew of doubtful OCs…but you've all been magnificent and so kind- thank you so much for sticking with me and this story.

I hope everybody had excellent, excellent holidays…and Happy New Year to all!

To the reviewers from the chapter last:

**FSL:** Yes, long. Actually, that was probably my longest chapter ever. Sorry if it was too long. Thanks for reviewing!

**Serena Goodkey:** I can't believe I updated myself. I am trying, desperately, desperately hard to keep it going. I'm glad you thought the ending cute- 'twas my favorite part out of that chapter. And what _is_ up with Pansy? That girl has all types of issues. But I love her, I do. Thank you so much for reviewing.

**FinalFantasy:** Oh my goodness, I'm beyond relieved that you thought my OCs were excellent. I was so so afraid that they would be terrible and cardboard and…well, your very kind words alleviated much of that feeling. Yes, Pansy is an 'interesting' character, she's figured so much more prominently in this story than I ever expected her to, but oh well. Here's the next update- hope it pleases you.

**Kisa Yamashita:** J'ai vu votre "profile"…vous êtes français? Ou quebecois? Vous parlez français, c'est certain et alors, je suis très heureuse parce que je prends Français A.P. à mon école, et peut-etre je peux pratiquer mon français par lire votre histoires! Merci mille fois pour votre critique ( ou review- je ne sais pas comment on le dirait en français) et oui, je suis en train de écrire et j'écrirai plus! Oh- désolé si vous ne comprenez pas mon français, je ne suis pas très bonne.

**Cho345Chi**: I will not abandon this story, I promise you that. And I love Draco's and Cho's conversations too…they are my favorite, favorite part to write, hands down. Thanks so much for the review, and the add to Favorites. :D Cookies for you!

**Cimbelmyne:** First off, very cool name, second off…thank you for the review. I am…so pleased that you think I give Cho depth- I've always tried to do it. And realistic is one of the best adjectives I could ever receive. I mean, I've always felt that the stories I've always gravitated towards shows the characters as people first, wizards second…and so I'm very happy that you think my story realistic. : )

**AutumnKate**: I'm glad you thought it was well worth the wait- here is the next chapter, hope this one was well-worth it too…thanks for reviewing.

**Travisty:** Haha, I bet you loathe my story completely and just say that because you're my 'husband'. :D Thanks for reviewing, finally. I am glad you think it adorable- I took out Draco's one sweet line, omitted some "unnecessary" lines and kept others- gave a bit of a sex change to that "terrible Jennifer Aniston-esque line"- didn't capitalize "god" when saying "oh my god" because they're not referring to God exactly, because I'm not sure that they believe in God- sorry, the boring conversation must stay- you'd flirt back too if Draco Malfoy told you he would do unspeakable things to you…actually, you'd probably rape him, how unnecessary- and I don't know what you're talking about, I am not Cho Chang at all. : )

**blue7**::does a little dance:: Yay, you like the OCs! Especially Addison. ;) Yummy things to eat for you. ::hands:: They should show up sporadically throughout the next chapters, I'm not too sure as of yet…and you are so…kind about this story. And you've hit spot on exactly my thoughts on the DC relationship, which I've attempted to show in this piece. I just love reading your reviews…not just because they're always really nice, but because your thoughts are so insightful and interesting and articulate. I can never think of what to say in reviews, and you seem to know just what to say. :D Here is your update, I hope you like it…

**modern minerva:** Wow, best DMCC you've read so far? I'm honored, really really honored. : D

**parlezvous**: It's funny…I usually don't read DHr…but one of my favorite fics in all the world is a DHr fic- read Trieste's Mourning if you haven't already…but yes, I feel very very special that you a) don't leave reviews, b) hate Draco/everybody else but Hermione ships, and c) hate angst…and yet you are still reading this story. It's great to know I've transcended ship and genre boundaries…you've inflated my head immensely, I must go deflate it now. : ) Yes, I will continue updating, and I really _don't_ mind the fangirling. ; )

The chapter in which: Harry cuts Draco up (some HBP dialogue in first scene), Cho loses THE Quidditch match, Pansy and Draco kiss and make up (not literally), Cho and Draco do some kissing and making up of their own (now do I mean that literally? ; ) ) and Draco, that silly boy, finally, finally gets it. In more ways than one. Here's goes…

* * *

After yet another letter, after yet another week of fruitless work, Draco Malfoy breaks down. Again.

He first came to the sixth floor's boys' bathroom when hiding from Filch one night when he stayed out particularly late. Exhausted, frustrated, and filled with an impending sense of doom, he broke down. Much to his embarrassment and chagrin, he discovered he wasn't alone. It was that strange ghost that Pansy had once told him about- they called her Moaning Myrtle. He expected her to be annoying, cloying, but in actuality, she is pretty kind, and she actually listens to him, and she promises never to say a word. So Draco has taken to coming to this bathroom, when days are particularly hard, and when he is lonelier than ever.

He looks around before pushing the door open, and hurrying in. He puts his elbows on a sink, cradling his head in his hands.

Immediately, she is there, hovering, her voice soothing and quiet. "Bad day?"

He nods, breathing slowly. He doesn't trust himself to speak.

"What happened?"

"I just…it just…I don't know…how…how I'm going to do it…I have to…fix it…and if I don't, he'll…kill me." He hates- _hates_- how weak he sounds.

"Who?" she asks, though she's asked it before.

"It doesn't matter, does it? He will kill me and that'll be the end of me. I'll be dead, gone, not alive, deceased, rotting, gone. Dead." The last word is caught in his throat, and he chokes on it. He presses firmly on the porcelain basin, almost as if it will hold him up. It does. The thought of death terrifies him and he closes his eyes, feeling like he wants to vomit out everything inside of him.

"It'll be okay," says Myrtle gently, wondering who he is and what he is running from. "Don't. Don't…tell me what's wrong…I can help you…"

"No one can help me. I can't do it…I can't…It won't work…and unless I do it soon…he says he'll kill me…" and Draco realizes he's crying, tears dripping down his face, falling, falling, falling. He angrily wipes them away, and tries to stop. But he can't, and that's when he looks up and sees Harry Potter, staring at him.

Something fills every inch of his body- is it shame? Anger? Resentment? Frustration, hate? He can't tell. All he knows is that of the whole Hogwarts student body, Harry fucking Potter is watching him cry. He draws his wand, his arm shaking, but his eyes hard. His hex misses, shattering a lamp…he blocks Potter's _Levicorpus_ and Myrtle is squealing like a pig, and Potter slips and Draco spits out "_Cruci-_"

Harry reacts instantly. "_SECTUMSEMPRA_!" He roars, and Draco is thrown to the ground, watching as his blood splashes out onto the tiled floor. He lies there, in the gathering pool of red, quiet, breathing slowly and harshly.

He has no idea what has just happened, but moving his hands to his chest, he realizes that he is bleeding everywhere, cut open like a pig.

And Potter looks horrified. Myrtle, good old Myrtle, screams like a siren, and rushes out of the bathroom, screaming murder. Draco watches her go, then closes his eyes. The lighting is too harsh and he cannot bear it. He wonders lazily how serious it is, wonders if maybe he will die and that will be the end of that.

And now Potter, gasping like a fish out of water, his face contorted. "No-I didn't-" he stammers.

_Shut up, Potter_, Draco thinks, too weak to say anything, _just shut up_. And then there is complete and utter blackness and he can see no more.

* * *

She is sorting medical charts in Madam Pomfrey's office, when Madam Pomfrey sticks her head in.

"Cho, hand me that green bottle in the second cabinet from the left. Yes, that one. And get me a blood-replenishing potion, quickly." And she's out again, hurrying to the main area of the Hospital Wing.

Cho grabs one of the potion vials lined up on the counter, and rushes after her.

What she sees is Draco Malfoy lying on a bed, eyes closed, white as the sheets, with long pale scars all over him. She checks her gasp just in time.

Snape is standing at the foot of the bed, looking inscrutable and Madam Pomfrey is standing over Draco, speaking softly. "Here, you go, take some of this, it's dittany to prevent scarring…don't move, you'll open up the wounds…there you go…almost…a little more…there." She sets the empty glass bottle on the night table.

Cho noiselessly hands her the blood-replenishing potion. Madam Pomfrey nods her thanks. Draco opens his eyes, and stares at Cho with dull gray eyes, then averts his gaze.

"And here's a Blood-Replenishing potion…drink all of that while I speak to Professor Snape, all right? Good. Cho, make sure Mr. Malfoy drinks all of that." Madam Pomfrey pats the bed briskly, then turns to Snape. "Severus, a word? In my office, if you will." He nods, and they both head to the office.

It is quiet, only broken by Draco's drinking. He won't look at her.

The adults' voices drift out of the office, rendering everything into scattered sentence fragments and enabling them to hear bits and pieces of the conversation. Cho isn't sure if Draco is listening, but she knows she is.

"…everything be all right?" Snape's voice- harsh and blunt.

"Yes, yes…haven't seen one of those in years…"

"…surprised myself…a little tiff in the bathroom…"

"But who…" asks Madam Pomfrey wonderingly.

Something uttered lowly; a gasp.

"_No_," says Madam Pomfrey disbelievingly. Then, "…you going to inform Dumbledore?"

Silence.

Madam Pomfrey says, reprovingly. "…really should, Serverus…about his parents?"

Cho hears hesitation, then Snape, murmurs slowly, "...his mother should know…"

"…write her later…" declares Madam Pomfrey.

"Good…check on him later, have to deal with…now."

They come out. Snape looks grim. Madam Pomfrey attempts a smile. "Draco dear, have you finished that potion?"

Draco shakes his head no, then clears his throat. "Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes?" She smiles kindly.

He looks down. "Would it be all right…if you didn't write to my mother about this?"

Cho stares at Draco, surprised, then watches Madam Pomfrey exchange a look with Snape.

"Well dear," Madam Pomfrey says carefully, "she asked me to write to her if anything happened…"

He looks up now, and says evenly, more to Snape than anyone else. "I just don't want her to worry."

Madam Pomfrey is about to say something, but Snape cuts her off. "Don't worry about it, Poppy. She needn't know. He'll be fine."

After a slight pause, she nods. "All right then. Cho, you can go back to sorting, I'll call you if I need you."

Cho obeys, glances at Draco, then heads off.

"Severus, see you in a bit."

He nods once, and stalks out the door, black robes billowing.

Madam Pomfrey turns to Draco, kind but stern. "Finish that potion."

He nods, but says, inclining his head in the direction of Cho's retreating back, "What's she doing here?"

Madam Pomfrey fusses over his pillows, plumping and smoothing imaginary creases and dents. "Well, Cho is doing Auror training once she leaves Hogwarts, and it's mandatory to intern a month in the Hospital Wing for her to qualify."

"She works here all day?"

"No, it's just a class period. She's been very helpful…just a lovely girl, really."

"Yeah…yeah, she is." And he tilts his head back to drain the last drops of potion.

After her shift is over, she stops by his bed, but he pretends to be asleep. She stays for a few moments for a reason she can't articulate, then quietly walks away.

When she has gone, he opens his eyes and wishes she hadn't.

* * *

It is a clear blue day, and Pansy is pretending to work on her Charms essay with Blaise under the big oak tree, but she keeps getting distracted. She gets distracted so easily nowadays.

She is leaning against the tree trunk, her hair tied perfectly with a green ribbon. Blaise is stretched out on the grass, his robe sleeves rolled up, his long limbs elegantly sprawled out. They make a pretty picture, and Pansy knows it, arranging her books and bag around her with an artful but calculated carelessness.

"You'll never get done if you don't start," he says, arching one eyebrow as he flips pages languidly in a textbook.

"I will," she says, but instead she plays with the little gold and emerald ring on her middle finger, twisting it, and admiring the play of the sunlight across its faceted face. She's always loved jewels.

"Christmas present?" asks Blaise, without looking up.

She nods.

"My mother has one just like it."

"Which husband?" asks Pansy, interestedly.

He furrows his brow in thought. "Second, I think."

"A lot of people have rings similar to this- my mother, Mrs. Malfoy, Millie's mother."

"Yes, we Slytherins, we're not very creative," he remarks dryly.

She shrugs. "No, I suppose we aren't. Do you know, Millie's mother is absolutely _beautiful_."

He raises his eyebrows incredulously. "You're kidding. _Bulstrode_'s mother?"

Pansy nods vigorously. "Yes. She's gorgeous, tall, thin with long brown hair and big green eyes. I really don't know what happened to Millie, it's _such_ a pity." And Pansy smoothes over her hair self-consciously.

"Wait, wasn't she a Carlyle before she got married?"

"I think so."

"That's it. Beauty skips generations in the Carlyle family."

"Do you know Georgiana Carlyle? She's at Ashworth."

"Yeah, I know Georgiana. We had a thing in fourth year. Ashworth is an excellent school- I still can't believe I'm stuck here." He scowls, and scribbles something out on his parchment with a particular viciousness.

"Hogwarts is a good school. It's a legacy sort of thing, you know."

"Whatever. My mother went to Ashworth- they're much more exclusive, you know, no Mudbloods or families that have intermarried- much better about _that_ sort of thing. Hogwarts is being overrun by Mudblood vermin, and it brings the quality of the student body down terribly." His face has gotten rather ugly- something has developed in it that Pansy flinches from.

"I know. But you know, the Dark Lord went here, so it's not _that_ bad."

"But that was what, fifty years ago? Now look at the place. Granger first in the class, and Muggle-raised-and-loving Potter the king of the school," sneers Blaise.

"Oh, I know. It's so unfair, you know. He thinks he's so much better because he's got a scar on his forehead. And don't even get me started on Granger, that ugly, beaver-toothed, hairy bitch."

"Calling the kettle black, are you?"

"Oh fuck off, Blaise. She slapped Draco once, did you know that? _Slapped_ him."

"You're kidding. Oh, speaking of Malfoy, did you know he's in the Hospital Wing?"

Her heart skips a beat. "What?"

"Yeah. Potter tore him up. I was outside Snape's office, and he was talking to Slughorn about it."

"Oh my god. I've got to go see him. I'll see you later, Blaise, okay?"

"Bye." He watches her run back, a black-robed girl with a green ribbon moving fluidly in the breeze, a serpent slithering mid-air to the castle. Something in him wants to take that ribbon, twine it around his fingers and pull her towards him. He doesn't, of course. But that's mostly because she's too far away right now, a blur, flying up to the castle. He can't even recognize her now. He doesn't know that he ever could in the first place.

* * *

She has to put her hand over her mouth when she sees him.

"What the _hell_ did he do to you?" she demands, small fists clenched.

"Hey Pansy," Draco says tiredly.

"I mean it. What did he do to you?" She is fierce and out for blood. He manages to smile, grimly, like a wounded soldier.

"Some spell I've never heard of. Cut me up a bit. But I'm all right. It doesn't hurt, really," he lies, sitting up.

"Do you need anything? Bandages, ointment, water, fluffier pillows-"

"I'm all right, really."

"Okay. If you're sure..." she trails off, looking at him expectantly.

He nods. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Quiet. She stares down at the stone floor. He waits for her to speak, because he knows she will.

And she does. She sort of blurts out, without looking at him, "I'm sorry. About the assignment thing. You're right, it's none of my business, and I just overreacted."

He stares down at the bed. "I can't tell anyone," he says flatly.

"I know. I was being silly. It's just…I don't know. It feels like I'm losing you."

"You never had me." He looks up, and she smiles sadly, brown eyes soft.

"No, I suppose I never did. But you can pretend, no, for my sake? It's just-"

"What?"

She sighs, and runs her hand along the metal foot rail. "Well, you were the closest thing I ever came to having." She glances up and says frankly, "I don't have anything, or anyone, nothing, I never have. But for a while, I could pretend that I had you. And now, I can't." And she looks down again.

He is silent for a moment, then abruptly, "Maybe it's better this way."

She finally looks at him. "Why?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. It just seems to me that pretending is a dumb way to live."

One nod. "It is." A ghost smile, then a little desperately, a little quietly, "But I can't do it any other way."

"Are you still making yourself throw up? Is that a way of pretending?" he asks harshly.

She won't look at him.

He is exasperated. "Pansy, answer me."

She does, with a forced smile. "No, Draco, it's very real."

"_Why_?"

"Because…because I'm ugly as it is, I can't be fat and ugly, can I?" She levels him with a direct gaze.

"You're not ugly. Or fat."

She rolls her eyes. "Come on, Draco."

"You're not," he insists, "you're not."

"This is just us, remember, you can be honest."

"You won't believe me, so what's the point?" He settles back into his pillows, tired

"I'm not doing this for attention, you know," she says suddenly.

He shrugs, slightly put-out. "It doesn't really matter what you're doing it for, does it? You're still doing it."

She glances down, and says in a small voice, "I know I should stop."

"Yeah."

She twists her ring on her finger and looks up, hesitantly. "I should, shouldn't I? I know it's bad. But I can't help it."

He gives her a somewhat smile. "Try. For me, at least."

She gives him a somewhat smile back. "For you. Yes, yes. I'll try for you.

An almost real smile. "Good girl."

A pause, then, "I'd better go, it's getting late. I'll visit tomorrow, okay?" She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Sure. Bye." He waves as she walks out.

"Bye."

"Oh, Pansy," he calls.

She turns. "What?"

"You do have me. Always have," he says, smoothly, with a hint of the old Draco.

She laughs. It's the first time in a long time. "You're full of shit."

He grins- _actually grins _-"I know. But pretend I'm not."

And she smiles at him, tired and lovely, "No, Draco, I'm done pretending. I think I finished a long time ago."

* * *

The next day, she pops in, even though it's a Saturday, and she has no shift. "Well don't you look terrible. I brought flowers." She waves a bouquet of white daisies, tied prettily with a white ribbon and smiles.

He stares at her. "…why?"

"Because. Aren't flowers just the sort of thing to cheer up a dull, dreary hospital room?"

He wrinkles his nose. "Flowers are for girls."

"Exactly."

"I'm offended."

"Well I'm sorry you're offended, but you'll just have to deal with them. These flowers aren't going anywhere." She places them on the side table, arranging them carefully. "There." Then she turns to him, more serious. "Can I ask what happened?"

"Potter." He says it wearily, and her eyes grow wide.

"_Harry_ did this to you?"

"Yes."

"What did you do to him?"

"Nothing." She gives him a look, and he is affronted. "I'm serious. Why is it always assumed that _I_ started it?"

She shrugs. "Seems like something you'd do, that's all."

A moment of silence, then, quietly "I tried to do _Crucio_."

She stares at him, dumbfounded. "On him?"

He rolls his eyes. "No, on you. Of course on him."

"That's an Unforgivable," she says, shocked.

"Well spotted, Ravenclaw, well spotted," he remarks acidly.

"No wonder he cut you up," she returns bitchily.

"It didn't work," he says quietly.

"The cutting up?" she asks incredulously, gesturing to his bandaged body.

"The _Crucio_."

"I'm glad it didn't work," she declares, sitting on a chair.

"You would be," he sneers. "Still holding a torch for Potter, after all this time?"

She smiles. "Jealous?"

He doesn't. "No. Answer the question."

She rolls her eyes. "Of course not. I stopped liking him at the end of last year, but that doesn't mean I want him to be _Crucio_-ed."

He settles back into his pillows, and closes his eyes. "Too bad. I was going to ask you to join my hate club."

"I'm _honored_ that you would ask."

"And you should be."

A pause. She stares down at her hands; he waits for her to speak. She does, more to kill the silence than anything else.

"So tell me about this hate club. Who else is in it?"

"Ah, a lot of people," he says vaguely, yawning.

"Really. It's funny; people always hate what they can't measure up to."

He raises his eyebrows and grabs his chest in mock pain. "Ouch. That hurt."

"Oh, did it? It wasn't supposed to. It was the truth, and the truth never hurts."

"I don't know what kind of world _you_ live in, Chang, but the truth always hurts."

"If you told me that- oh, I don't know- that I was a nice person and that was the truth, it wouldn't hurt."

"But it isn't the truth, so it doesn't count."

"It was just an example. I think I'm pretty nice."

"Here's a truth. You're still hung up on Potter."

"Here's another. You're obsessed with him. I think _you're_ the one hung up on Harry."

"That's not a truth," he protests, disgusted.

"Neither was yours," she counters, raising her eyebrows.

He stares at her, almost bewildered. "I don't understand you."

She sighs, smiling. "Neither do I."

He glances down at his lap, fingering the sheets. "Why do you defend him?"

"Who?" she asks, absentmindedly.

"Potter." For some reason, he says it without any malice.

"I don't defend him."

"You just did. You basically said I deserved to be cut up."

"It was an Unforgivable, Malfoy! I'd cut you up too."

"It didn't even work."

"Whatever. It's self –defense. Why did you do it anyway?"

He shrugs. "Because he was there, and I was angry."

"Well someone needs anger management, don't they? God, I'd hate to see what you'd do to _me_ if I ever caught you in a bad mood."

"Oh, I'd do a lot of things to you if I ever got the chance," he says, raising an eyebrow.

She laughs, and it peals across the empty Hospital Wing. "Would you now? Unspeakable things?"

"Exactly." He nods.

She shakes her head. "You bastard."

"Sorry, Chang. Just can't resist you."

She shrugs. "Who can?"

He furrows his forehead in thought. "Besides Potter? Let's see…you know, I think he's the only one."

"He's obviously lacking a little something in the head," she whispers.

He nods. "It's the scar."

"Oh yes, of course. Out of curiosity, Malfoy, what _would_ you do to me if you got the chance?" She quirks up an eyebrow, and he smirks.

"That's for me to know, and you to find out, isn't it?"

She stands. "I'm a bit frightened now."

"You shouldn't be. I'm _very _good at what I do."

She smiles. "So am I."

It's his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Are you now? Can we have a little demonstration?"

She shakes her head wryly. "Not today. I have to go. I'll see you, okay? Feel better."

He nods. "Bye Chang."

And she's gone and he's alone, staring at the daisies on his side table. Something possesses him.

And he's running, straight out of the Hospital Wing, pajamas and bandages and all.

"Chang!"

She turns, and he is silenced, just for a moment.

"Um. I…just wanted to…" What _had_ he wanted to do? _Shit. _A throat clear. "I just wanted to…thank you. For the flowers."

"You're welcome," she says, slightly bewildered. "You ran all the way down here to thank me for flowers?"

"I…well…no, uh, good luck tomorrow. With the match and all. Kick Gryffindor's collective ass for me."

She smiles. "I'll try."

"Okay. Good. Uh. Thanks. Again. I mean…I'm just going to go back now…" He cocks his head in the direction of the Hospital Wing.

"All right," she says, laughing a little, "I've never seen you flustered before, Malfoy."

"_Flustered_? What kind of Floo powder are you smoking? Who ever said _anything_ about being flustered, Chang? All I came to do was to give a simple thank you and good luck at the match tomorrow and you accuse me of being _flustered_? God. I know you think the world revolves around you, but not everybody worships you, you know. " He glares at her, arms folded.

She rolls her eyes. "I'm going to pretend that you didn't just utter the most hypocritical sentence I've ever heard."

"It wasn't hypocritical. Everybody worships me."

"Don't you wish they did."

"They do. I don't have to wish for anything."

"I don't worship you," she points out.

"You don't count, Chang," he says nastily.

"Ah, so I'm in a category all by myself now, am I? How nice of you to set me apart from everybody else." He can't understand why she's smiling.

He shrugs, turning and walking back. "What else was I supposed to do? You're not like them, you don't belong with them."

"…Thank you?" she calls after him.

Another shrug. "It wasn't a compliment; just a statement."

"Thanks anyway," she says firmly.

He turns back to face her. "_Why_?" he asks, frustrated, "_why_?"

Something catches in her throat, but she swallows it, and smiles. "For setting me apart."

He waves it away dismissively. "It's nothing. It means nothing… well, not _nothing_. Nothing important."

She shakes her head slowly. "Everything you say means something important. If you wanted to say nothing, you would've said nothing. That's how you are."

"Got me figured out, have you?" he asks, brusquely.

"I've always had you figured out," she says simply and honestly, and he believes her.

* * *

"Okay, guys. This is it. Gryffindor has had the Cup since Harry joined the team, basically. This is my last year...but no pressure, you know? I just want you guys to go out there and play the way we've always played. We've never been the worst team, or the most underhanded, or the most entertaining- but we're good, dammit, and I think we have a real chance this year." With that, she pushes a stray hair out of her face and smiles nervously at everyone.

"No breakdowns, Cho?" asks Anthony Goldstein.

She winks. "No breakdowns. Promise. Okay, let's do this."

They put their heads together, silent. Then, noiselessly, they exit.

She walks out on the pitch, and the roar of the crowd overwhelms her. She closes her eyes for a moment, just to feel the wind in her hair. And then she shakes Katie's hand with a warm smile, nods to Ginny Weasley, and mounts her broom.

The whistle, and she's gone, riding the air.

_God, I'm going to miss this. _

She circles, like a hawk, searching, searching for gold among the blue. A storm of noise comes from the crowd, but she doesn't look down, remembering what Roger had told her sixth year. _"Listen, whatever you do, don't pay attention to the score, okay? Just work on finding the Snitch." _

She can't believe this is her last game. She doesn't know how she is going to live without flying. There is something exquisite about being up in the air, falling away from the earth, from all her worries and all her fears, from all the people who meant well, from all the people who didn't mean well. It is the only place she feels free.

There- a quick glint, right by Anthony's head. She dives down, swooping, swooping, but as she reaches for it, it shoots straight up in the air, and disappears in the glare of the sun.

She lets out a sigh of frustration, and climbs the air again.

A Bludger comes out of nowhere, grazing her arm. She grabs her arm, gritting her teeth at the pain. It's not broken, but she's sure there'll be a huge bruise tomorrow.

Suddenly, Ginny Weasley dives, and Cho, cursing, follows. She sees it, fluttering madly by one of the goal posts. But then the Quaffle hits it, and it is gone again.

A good half an hour passes, in which several goals are scored, one penalty is given to Ravenclaw, and there is still no sign of the Snitch. Cho has given up listening to the commentary, but she knows that the two teams are almost tied.

And then, there, there it is, hovering serenely above the middle of the field. Ginny spots it at the same time, and both girls speed towards it from opposite ends of the pitch, arms outstretched. About an inch or two away from the winged ball, someone smacks a Bludger at Cho, and it knocks her off her broom.

She falls slowly, aware of nothing. When she hits the ground, she watches as Ginny grabs the Snitch, holding it high up in the air, the gold shining and shimmering in the sunlight.

She closes her eyes, having finally, finally succumbed to gravity. It is a hollow feeling, losing. Like she's left something, some part of her in the sky, hovering among the clouds, flying for the sun.

* * *

He is so engrossed in his work that he doesn't realize when the door opens. When he hears footsteps, he freezes, and quietly closes the cabinet, searching his pocket frantically for the Peruvian Instant Darkness. _Where the fuck was it?_

And to his surprise, the footsteps round the corner and there is Cho Chang, looking as bewildered as he is.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, not coldly.

"What are you?" she counters, not missing a beat.

"I asked first," he points out.

"Looking for something. Forgot where I put it. I _thought_ it was in this aisle…" she frowns, scanning the mounds of rubbish.

He nods slightly, then clears his throat. "Sorry you guys lost."

"Oh, like you give a fuck." She is suddenly waspish, suddenly bitter.

He shrugs, watching her search. "I always like to see Gryffindor beaten."

"Yeah, well..." she says dryly, leaning against the cabinet.

He looks her over once, noticing how the flood of light in the cathedral-like room sort of blurs her around the edges. She looks otherworldly, and he feels decidedly ordinary. "Are you pissed?"

"Kind of. I mean, god that was my last game, you know? And I lost it. It was my fucking last game _ever_ and I fucking lost it." She kicks a pile of old books childishly, and they tumble to the floor, dust flying in all directions.

"What happened?"

She looks up, questioning. "You weren't there?"

He avoids answering. "I heard you fell."

And she looks down again. "Yeah. Broke my leg only, surprisingly. Madam Pomfrey fixed it on the field though."

He nods. "Did Weaselette cheat?"

"No. She's not that type."

"You're sure? I mean…don't let this inflate your head, Chang, but you just might be the best Seeker I've played at Hogwarts."

"Besides Harry," she adds, almost automatically.

His lip curls. "We don't speak of him."

"No, she's better. Of course she's better," she says, more to herself than to him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means what it means. She's better."

"What's with the 'of course'?"

"Well…she's nice, pretty smart, excellent at Quidditch, and now dating Harry. Of course she's better," she says flatly.

He arches an eyebrow, half-triumphantly, half-hollowly. "So you _are_ still in love with Potter."

She throws up her hands in irritation. "No, _god_ no. It's just a little strange, seeing someone you once were with, with someone else, you know."

"I think there's a little more to it than that."

"Well she doesn't make him stark raving mad, does she? They look happy together, and I'm glad for them, I really am. But it's hard when you want what someone else has. No, not Harry. I mean…I just…get so lonely sometimes. I miss the feeling of being…"

"In love?" he asks dryly. For some reason, he can say the word without gagging.

"No," she looks away, and swallows, "happy. I miss being happy."

Silence. He's actually afraid to look at her. Because if he does, he doesn't know what will come out.

She glances around. "Wow, there's a lot of shit here. Look, here's that cabinet that Montague got stuck in last year." She pats it.

"Yeah. You know about it?" His curiosity is suddenly piqued.

"God, who didn't know about it? I always thought it was funny that it took them so long to get him out." She kneels down, opening one of the doors, looking inside.

He watches her. "Why do you say that?"

She opens the other. "Well, I mean it was obvious, wasn't it? It's a Vanishing Cabinet- they were immensely popular in the 19th century…all they had to do was find the counterpart."

"What if one is broken? I mean…the one Montague was in was broken. That's why he couldn't get out."

"Well, it's a bit complicated, but you can't fix a Vanishing Cabinet from the outside. You have to go inside and fix it. So if someone had done that, Montague would've been out of there in no time."

"But how does that work?"

"Just as it sounds. You have to go inside and fix it. There's a book in the Library about it…it's like Tricks of the Magicians or something; I read it a long time ago. It has all that information in there." She stands, closing the doors.

"If you knew so much about Vanishing Cabinets, why didn't you help out last year?"

She smiles. "Honestly? Montague once set two Beaters at the same time onto me in a match in my third year. I ended up breaking an arm and a leg, and I would've probably broken all the rest of the bones in my body if Roger hadn't caught me."

"Ah, I remember that match. You fell, didn't you?"

"Well, two Bludgers will knock a girl off her broom. So understandably, I didn't really feel like helping Montague out."

He smirks. "Come now, Chang. Couldn't put aside old grudges?"

"Would _you_ have helped him?"

"No," he says frankly and decidedly, "but we're talking about _you_ here, Chang, not me."

"I'm not as nice as you seem to think I am. I'm not a Hufflepuff, you know."

"Hufflepuffs aren't nice. Just simple."

"Morality wise, they're the cleanest of all the Houses."

"You think? Is that why you were into Diggory?"

"There were other reasons." She doesn't look at him.

He curses himself and changes the topic quickly. "What did you hide?"

She smiles. "Now, that's none of your business, is it?"

"Maybe it is."

She shakes her head, but she won't look at him. "It's nothing, really, just a scarf."

He knits his eyebrows together. "You hid your scarf in here?"

"Not mine. Cedric's." She lets the last word out on a breath, and it sort of hangs there, in the air, between them.

"That's a little strange."

"Is it strange?" she asks wonderingly. "It reminds me of him."

"So why hide it?"

"Because if I don't, then people will say 'Oh look, she's still grieving for him, oh look, she's not over him yet, oh look-" Her mask is cracking and she can't help it.

"Do you really care what people think?"

She looks at him. "Don't you?"

He looks down. "You're allowed to be…weak, you know." _And I am not._

"What, just because I'm a girl, I'm allowed to be weak?"

"I didn't mean it like _that_."

"Then what did you mean? Why can't you just say what you mean?"

"I mean…" he lets out a breath, and the words come slowly and haltingly, "…it's okay to grieve for someone you cared about."

"Do you think I ever want to go back to that mess I was last year?"

"So you hide his scarf."

"Yes. It's partially for my sake too, because every time I see it…"

"What?"

She won't look at him, and her words come tumbling out, one after another, crashing into each other. "I remember when I saw him. Lying down, his eyes glassy- dead. Dead. I used to have nightmares about it. That we would go to sleep in each other's arms- and I'd wake up in the arms of a rotting corpse that would never let me go. Because that's what he is right now, just a dead, rotting corpse. Oh god."

She breaks, breaks into a million pieces on that dusty floor, and he freezes. He couldn't even gather up the pieces if he tried. So he stands there, and lets her go.

After a while, her sobs subside and she rubs her eyes furiously, turning her head away. He stares down at the floor, and lets her speak, because he somehow knows she needs to.

"It's just…sometimes I wonder if this will define me. If somehow, everything in my life is tied to him, tied to his death. Is this what will mark me, has this branded me, changed me, has this really truly changed me?"

"You tell me."

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I think it has. And I don't want it to, I never wanted it to, but I think it has."

"I can't do this," he says, somewhat under his breath, "I can't do this."

She looks at him, concerned. "What's wrong?"

He gestures wildly, taking a couple of steps back. "This is wrong. This is just…it's wrong. I can't listen to you, I just can't."

She gets it. "I don't blame you, you know."

"I-" He opens his mouth to protest, but can't.

"You weren't there, you didn't know."

He rolls up his sleeve, and shoves his wrist in her face. She doesn't flinch, but sets her teeth and stares past it, into his eyes.

"This is all the blame you'll ever need," he says wildly, "this- this is just as good as me being there, this is just as good as me being at every murder, this is just as good as me saying the words myself. I'm a murderer, you see, by association."

"You're not," she says, firmly and quietly.

He turns from her, pulling his robe sleeve back down angrily. "I am. Don't you _fucking get it_, Chang? I'm a fucking murderer, a killer, someone who fucking kills _other human beings_. I am a Death Eater and I know and you know that is what you'll see every time you look at me. A murderer. I am a murderer." He whispers to the word to himself as if he's trying out the taste on his mouth.

"You're not a murderer," she tells him, steely, "not yet."

"Thanks for the encouragement," he mutters sarcastically.

She exhales, loudly. "Don't you think it's dumb, Malfoy? I mean…why expend so much time and energy hating a group of people who are the exact same as you?"

"They're not the same," he says, childishly scuffing his shoe against the floor.

"No? You're telling me they don't feel, that they don't dream, that they don't think, that they don't-"

He puts up his hands as if in self-defense. "Okay, okay. Maybe in some respects they're similar to us. But it doesn't change the fact that they were never meant to learn magic, does it?"

She stares at him. "Who are you to say that? What are you, _God_, Malfoy? Who says you get to decide?"

"Nobody, I…you just don't get it," he says, finished.

She glares at him. "No, _you_ don't get it. If they were never meant to learn magic, then how can they learn it?"

"Well-"

"Can I tell you a story?"

"By all means, fire away," he says dryly.

"The Muggles hate one another for the color of their skin. Not all of them, but a pretty vocal minority of them do. And they've killed each other over it, enslaved each other over it and done many more unspeakable things in the name of _color_. What do you think of that?"

He absorbs this, and furrows his forehead. "For the color of their skin? They hate each other for the color of their skin?"

"Yes. Not just the color- they take in the idea of ethnicity as well."

"Well that's really fucked up. Give it to the Muggles to hate each other off of that."

"It's pretty similar to what you hate, isn't it? Isn't hating someone based off of race fucked up?"

"It's not the same. It's not about outward appearances here. It's about blood and history."

"Oh, okay, because hating a person because they come from the Middle East is _so _much more different than hating a person because they don't have magical ancestors?"

"It's completely different," he insists.

"Stop, just stop. You're making excuses for…for something that can't have excuses. Oh, okay, well, it's not fair that they can learn magic, we don't think it's right, so let's just kill them all and kill all who disagree with us. Because that makes _so _much sense." She is looking at him with what he interprets as pure and utter loathing. So he gives up.

"Fine. I'm evil, straight down to the core. I delight in bloodshed, in gore, and in unhappiness. I'm a Death Eater, a racist, a bigot, a murderer, an executioner for a creed that is…" he searches wildly for a word, and when he finds one, spits it out with a kind of harsh laugh, "that is…_absurd_. I fight for a cause that will destroy everything and leave nothing good. I am the antagonist, the villain, the one who always gets fucking killed by the hero because he's fucking terrible, he's not human. That's who I am. That's who this tattoo makes me. You've made that much clear." He glares at her, with a curious empty feeling in him.

She shakes her head slowly, and begs him with her eyes. "Don't you get it? _Don't you get it_? When I look at you, I don't see the Mark. I don't see Death Eater. I don't see evil. I don't see any of those things…I just see…" she can't finish, so she shuts her mouth and stares determinedly at the floor.

So he finishes for her, with a ragged voice. "Me. You just see me."

She looks at him, and whispers "Yes, you. Just you."

A pause. He stares straight ahead, she stares at the floor.

He snorts. "God. This is so fucked up."

She looks up, half-smiling. "It is, isn't it?"

"Everything is fucked up. God, how the _hell_ did everything get so fucked up?"

"I wish I knew."

"I mean, look at us. You, Diggory's widow, Potter's ex, practically the poster girl for Wizarding-Muggle relations, and me, Death Eater, son of a Death Eater, the scion of centuries of Dark Wizarding blood- here. Talking. Being somewhat civil to one another. It's fucked up, Chang, really fucked up."

"Doesn't it scare you?" she says, suddenly.

"What?"

"That we're…we're chained to ourselves. We can never be anybody but ourselves and we…can never change," she says hopelessly.

He looks at her. "Whatever happened to the girl who believed anybody could change?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know. She's starting to fade."

"That's a pity," he says, without thinking.

She glances at him. "You liked her?"

"I sort of need her," he half-confesses, a dry smile finding its way onto his marble face.

"Are you mocking me, Malfoy?" she asks, raising both eyebrows, a half-smile on her lips.

He shakes his head slowly. "No. Admiring you."

The corner of her lips twitch, and she looks down, quickly, hurrying on. "I mean, what's the point anymore? Nothing can be altered, there are no more choices, there is no escape. We must be who we have to be. There's nothing more to it. It's the end."

"It is, isn't it?"

She looks up again, her gaze direct. "It is. I would never lie to you."

"Why not?" he asks, "why not?"

She won't look at him. She can't. "Because you deserve the truth. I mean, if you deserve anything at all, you deserve the truth."

He glances down, his voice low, barely audible. "You deserve a lot more than the truth and I can barely give that to you."

"Do you?" she inquires, "do you give me the truth?"

He shakes his head in self disbelief. "Yes. Yes. For some reason, yes. I have always given you the truth and when I haven't, you've figured out the truth anyway. Damn Ravenclaw," he says half bitterly, leaning on the cabinet.

There is a long silence in which they stare at each other, so many things spoken without being actually spoken.

Somehow, she ends up in front of him, and somehow, he ends up kissing her.

The world stops. Just for a moment.

When it is over, she hides her head in his shoulder, and he closes his eyes. It takes him a moment to put his arms around her, but once he does, he never wants to let go. He just wants to _be_, like this, holding her, here, forever. It is the one thing he is sure he can do.

Something compels him to speak. It comes out softly, a little broken, torn at the edges, but he allows it to come out. "What scares me most is knowing what they want from me."

She doesn't lift her head. "What do they want from you?"

"Everything."

She tightens her hold on him, as if it means something. "You knew this would happen, you always knew."

"Yes," he responds quietly, "yes, I always knew."

* * *


	7. Endings

Author's Notes: So, I'm just minding my own business at the CD ship on FA, and suddenly I learn DH is being released July 21st. 2007. First thought was ZOMG Harry Potter finally ending gaspcrydiecheerfreakout! Second thought was ZOMG SHIT FUCK I have to finish Requiem before 7/21/07 ::general explosion of me-ness::. Obviously that didn't happen. But I did want to at least end the first part of Requiem, and give my wonderful readers _some_ closure. So, here it is, the last chapter. I am beyond sorry for the amount of time this took to update. Really, I am, and if I get any reviews at all, I will be a very happy girl. Thank you for the last ones, they made my day every day I got them.

**parlezvous**: I love him too. : ) Sorry for the super-late update!

**travesty: **Danker for the middle of the night edit. I did almost everything you told me- changed some "throde dialogue" (though the boring part had to stay in, sorry) and took out some "excessive quotation marks". Thanks, really, Scrogy darling, for sticking with me and this story. Your edits have been pretty invaluable and they make me laugh and turn pink. You just might be- oh, hell, you are probably the best editor I've had. And friend, too. ;)

**Cimbelmyne: **I think certainly that Ginny has some Mary-Sue qualities about her…I thought that the Harry/Ginny, though expected, should have been fleshed out a lot more, and I honestly thought the characterization of Ginny was a bit sloppy. But that's neither here nor there. I definitely get what you mean about Cho only being the girl who cries too much for dead!Cedric, which has always got to me, because hello? HE'S HER BOYFRIEND AND HE WAS RANDOMLY MURDERED. She's going to be pretty upset…so therefore all human hosepipe comparisons elicit from me a FAIL at life, because I'd be really interested to see what that person would do in her shoes. Really. steps off soap-box Sorry for the rant and the lateness, thanks for the review.

**Serena Goodkey**: Thank you. : ) The "outburst" was my favorite part too.

**blue7: "**They are both broken and confused, branded literally and metaphorically by their experiences/choices and they don't know if they can escape the roles assigned to them by other people, or what they believe to be is fate."  put eloquently and truthfully, and you basically got down exactly what I was trying to get down for this fic. Thank you for the PM- it got me moving. Sorry for the lateness, though. And thank you very much for your always insightful reviews throughout this entire fic- it's been lovely. :D

**Cho345chi:** Aww, I'm sorry your day sucked. : ( Still, thanks very much for reviewing and reading. :D

**Lunaseas:** Your review was very kind- and authors _do_ love reviews, especially this one. ;) I'm glad you think the characters are in character- I tried really hard to do that. Thanks for the Favorites add, and while I don't know that you can consider this "finished", but maybe it's "closed". For now, at least. Thanks for reading.

**FSL**: Yes, shorter, but this one is super-long. Thanks for the read.

**AutumnKate**: Dialogue between C and D has always, always been the most fun to write. My update is, what, five months late, and for that I'm a terrible person. But thank you for your support anyway.

**Chele: **The complexities of Cho and Draco _are_ wonderful, and I'm glad you enjoy this little story. :D

**Liger4321**: Your review was very, very touching. It's probably one of the best reviews I've ever gotten. I am so flattered and so happy that you feel that way about this story. The fanbase _is_ tiny, and I wish it were bigger, but we're a pretty cool one in spite of our size. ;) Incidentally, what book were you referring to? I'd like to read it, if it really is supposed to be the "most wonderful adolescent love story ever written". Anyway, thank you again for your extraordinarily kind review.

**heart: **I'd hardly call it perfect, but it's really nice of you to. : ) Here is an update, but it isn't soon.

**heart5: **Thanks for the review- I haven't read RedRogue's "The One Mistake", but I mean to. A super-late update is here.

**Yukishiro Madoka: **I've tried to keep them in character. And I'm glad you think I do. Thank you for the review!

Some dialogue later in the fic (The Lightning-Struck Tower) is taken purely from HBP. This chapter is I think the longest of any of my chapters, and probably the hardest to write. I can't believe it's done. I wish that I had the time or ability to _really_ finish it, to bring Requiem the ending I wanted it to have, but alas, DH is a week away, and I cannot do it. I would love to continue after DH, but a) I don't know if either of my main characters will be alive, and b) I don't know if anybody will want to read. If you're interested, or think you will be in a sequel to Requiem, let me know. If it comes to fruition, it'll be Aeternam.

I cannot truly express my gratitude to all of you for your continual support and praise of my little story. Thank you so much, for both reading, and for leaving reviews that encouraged me every step of the way. Thank you for the adds to Favorites. It's finished. I'm feeling kind of weird- this is the last thing I'll post before the advent of Deathly Hallows. It's like the end of an era for me.

I hope you like it.

* * *

After she leaves, he grabs his books and heads straight to the Library.

He comes in, relatively breathless from running. Madam Pince immediately accosts him.

"Sorry, Mr. Malfoy, it's closing time."

"But-" he cannot imagine having to wait one more day, so he turns on the old Malfoy charm. "Madam Pince, I _really_ need this book."

"I'm sure it can wait for tomorrow," she says, pining up her mouth primly.

"No, it really can't. You see, it's my mother's birthday tomorrow, and the book I'm looking for has a spell to conjure up…um, butterflies from long distances and my mother loves butterflies and if I don't do anything for her, no one else will, because…because…"

Because my father is in Azkaban, are the unspoken words, and Draco stops bs-ing for a second to think about them.

Madam Pince surveys him with narrowing eyes, then sighs. "Do you know the title of the book?"

"Tricks of the Magicians." He hopes Cho's right.

"Wait here." She walks out of sight for a bit, then returns with a dusty, thick black book. She hands it to him.

"Thank you." He's never meant it more.

She nods. "You're welcome, Mr. Malfoy."

"Good night, Madam Pince."

"Good night- oh, and one more thing." She smiles, dryly, but she does smile. "Wish your mother a happy birthday from me."

"Done."

That night, he does not sleep. Instead, he goes straight to the Room of Requirement after the Library. It is dark now, and through the cathedral windows, he can see the stars.

Though he's not the praying type, he says a little prayer to the forces of the universe. _Please, let this work_.

Then, he opens up the book, blows the dust off its pages, and begins.

* * *

She is the one to leave the Room first. She goes back to her dorm, to lie on her bed and stare at the dark blue canopy. She does not know what to think, but it's sort of nice, just lying there, her mind unclouded.

She thinks, naturally, of Draco. He hovers there in her mind, barely tangible, but there, somewhere in the darkness. She can't remember the kiss, not really, but she remembers the sunlight warming them, his hands on the small of her back. She doesn't know where this is all going. She doesn't know why she kissed him. Or did he kiss her? She can't remember anymore.

The irony of the situation does not escape her, but there's nothing she can do about it. She's in too deep.

She doesn't care. She's always hated being in over her head, but for once, it's okay. She thinks she can handle it. When all is said and done, with him, she'd rather be in over her head than safe and sound. She likes the fact that he never makes promises to her. She likes the fact that he doesn't pretend to her. She likes the fact that he understands her.

Then of course, she remembers whom his allegiance is to, and it makes her vaguely nauseated, and she has to turn on her side so she can breathe better. She wonders if there's something wrong with her, being attracted to Draco Malfoy. She's always thought she'd abhor someone like him, but she abhors more his actions than she does him. Maybe because, in the end, she doesn't think he truly believes what he says he does.

When she falls asleep, there's a smile on her face, and it stays there all night, until the stars begin to fade and dawn breaks.

* * *

Narcissa has taken to not eating breakfast lately. Instead, she lies in bed until mid afternoon. She does not bother to get up, brush her teeth, arrange her hair, put on proper robes, or anything. She doesn't care anymore.

No one visits the Manor. She hasn't cut fresh flowers in two months. The silver is burnishing, the pillows lumping, the House-Elves growing more and more slovenly. Slowly, but surely, the house is going to ruin, taking Narcissa with it.

She stays in bed a little longer on her birthday. The dark green velvet curtains are drawn, and her long blonde hair is fanned out. She stares up at the canopy, lazily contemplating suicide.

She's thought about it quite frequently. She isn't morbid- far from it- but being locked up to rot in the house has made her think strange thoughts. She isn't actually locked up, of course. She is free to do as she pleases. But her husband is shut away in prison, her son faraway and in danger, her sister god-knows-where, her parents dead. Her friends were never really her friends, and half of them are gone, to the Continent, far from Ministry scrutiny. The other half is still in England, pretending that nothing has changed, when everything has changed. They hold their luncheons and teas and dinner parties, pretending to be oblivious to the fact that there is a war waging beneath their pureblood noses. Narcissa despises them for doing this, especially when she is sick over Draco's predicament and worried that they'll execute Lucius any day, without trial. Scrimgeour would be the type to do such a thing.

So Narcissa hates her old friends because they refuse to see what she is going through. And so, she must weather it alone. She despairs of all of it. She doesn't know how much longer she can go on, living like this. She is desperately afraid of dying alone, like her namesake, watching herself fade away without even realizing it.

So she contemplates ways of ending. A quick cut across the wrists would be the most picturesque- ice pale skin bleeding red red blood. Poison was another option; she remembered where the stores were. Everything else was far too messy or grotesque. She thinks these thoughts lightly, because she knows she can never do it. She is a coward, and her threshold of pain is extremely low. And anyhow, she knows she could never forgive herself for leaving Draco.

And this thought, in some strange way, strengthens her enough to get through another day. She lives for him, really, not for herself. Somehow, she can do it better now.

She thinks it strange that it should happen that she should love someone better than she should love herself. She always thought self-love to be above all things, whether one meant for it to be, or not. Even with Lucius, it was like that. But not with Draco.

It stems from a feeling of complete ownership, she decides. She felt like she owned Draco, like she had with no other. Draco was _hers_- he came from something deep and innate inside of her, he came from her, and he had slept in her arms, and kissed her cheek, clung to her neck, and in sum, was the one creature she ever felt actually needed her. She saw some of her in him, a part of herself there.

Something compels her to get up now. There will be customary, cordial birthday cards, of course, from the few that remembered. Perhaps even a visit from Ianthe Parkinson or Prims Rosier. So she gets up, pulls a light silk robe over her nightgown, ties her hair back, and goes to her study, where she has been having her tea lately. The dining room is far too big and lonely for one person.

When she walks in, she is immensely surprised to see large narcissi arrangements everywhere. They sit on her desk, and spill out to rest on the floor. There is a small pile of envelopes, and a small green-tissue-paper-wrapped present, complete with a black velvet bow and matching note.

She opens the card first.

Happy Birthday Mother.

Miss you.

Love,

Draco

It isn't his handwriting- it's the pretty script of some shop girl, but she knows it's his words, and she smiles. Then she reaches for the present. Carefully, she undoes the ribbon, and folds back the delicate paper. It's a tiny little music box- all gold, the top done in the likeness of her flowers, white enameled petals with small yellow diamonds making up the center. She opens it, and a strain of music wafts out, carrying itself throughout the sunlit room. She closes her eyes. She cannot remember exactly the name of the song, but she remembers it, and it delves deep into her, almost hurting. It finishes, leaving an empty silence.

She closes the box and leans over to smell a narcissus. They are long, with pale white bodies and bright yellow hearts. She is thankful for the brightness of the yellow. The color makes her feel alive, in her sunlit study.

She opens the music box to hear the song again, because it reminds her of something missing, and because it is his gift to her.

* * *

He emerges from the darkness utterly exhausted and more than a little disoriented, but triumphant. He stands, for a moment, completely still, letting everything sink in.

_I've done it. I've done it. I've fixed it._

Something tears itself away from him, and he begins to laugh and laugh. Laughing turns into shouting which turns into a sort of victory dance. He is so drunk with his achievement, he doesn't even care. He doesn't even care.

Someone enters. He hears a voice, and does not hesitate to reach into his pocket, pull out some Peruvian Instant Darkness, and think _I need whoever it is to be thrown out_.

The room obeys, and he is alone again, standing in a pool of sunlight.

He notices something black and yellow poking out from under a broken bust of Rowena Ravenclaw. Something compels him to pull it out.

It is a dusty knit scarf. On one end, there is a monogrammed CD. He brushes most of the dust off, and folds it up rather carefully, to give to Cho later.

When he opens the door, he does not expect to see her there.

They stare at one another for a moment. Then, at once, a mumble of words and pauses and explanations and unsaid things come.

"I just came to get-"

"I just found this-"

They both stop. She smiles ruefully. "Where did you find it?"

"Under a bust of Rowena Ravenclaw."

"Yeah, I forgot to get it last time." She glances at him, waiting for a reaction, but when he gives none, she vows to do the same.

He nods once –just once- and hands it to her.

"Thanks." She places it carefully, but unceremoniously in her bag. She won't look at him and he wonders why.

Silence.

Then, again, they both speak at once.

"So-"

"Um-"

She stops haltingly. "Go ahead."

His hand finds its way to smooth his hair unconsciously. "Oh, I was just going to ask where you were headed. Not out of actual interest, but you know, common decency."

"Common decency coming from a Malfoy! Imagine that." Then she catches the look on his face, and quickly makes amends. "I'm off to my dormitory. I've got studying."

"Studying coming from a Ravenclaw. Imagine that," he retorts, dryly.

"Really, have you nothing better to do than to parrot other people's witty comments back at them?" But she is smiling, and he gives her a half-smile in return.

"I don't actually. So let me walk you, Chang," he says rather suddenly, and spontaneously.

She is taken aback, but does not show it. "I think I'm all right, really-"

"I insist. I know your desperate longing for my charming company. I'll indulge you."

She snorts. "I'd call you a lot of things Malfoy, but I'm not sure if charming is one of them."

He shrugs. "At least I don't date people who wear monogrammed scarves."

"His grandmother did it for him!"

"That's what they all say."

"What were you doing in there any way?"

"Hiding the dead body of the Boy Who Lived."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"You have a very strange obsession with Harry."

"You have a very strange obsession with Diggory."

"He was my boyfriend! You're allowed to have strange obsessions about boyfriends. Harry wasn't ever your boyfriend, was he?"

"God no Chang. First of all, I don't swing that way, and second of all I don't have YOUR god awful taste."

"I have adequate taste in boys!"

It's his turn to snort. "Hardly. First there's Diggory who gets himself murdered, then there's Potter who I can't even _start_ on, and then there's Corner-"

"Correction. Michael and I never went out."

"Really? Pansy told me-"

"It was just a silly rumor."

"I stand corrected. Well, anyway, there's Potter and then there's-" he stops abruptly.

_There's me_, he almost says. _And then there's me._

"And then there's no one," she says quickly. She stops to adjust her book bag.

"I could be a gentleman and offer to carry that, but I've done enough good deeds for the day."

"Oh, so there's a quota now?"

"There's always been a quota."

"So I see." She tosses her hair uncharacteristically, and he backtracks.

"I was kidding Chang, let me hold your books."

She shakes her head. "No, I've got it."

"No, you don't. Look, your hair is getting caught in the straps." He moves to help her.

She brushes his hand away. "It's fine."

"Do I have to take those books from you by force?"

"I'd like to see you try." She grabs her bag tightly, and cocks an eyebrow.

Draco, never one to back down from a challenge, makes as if he's going to grab them. She expertly dodges him, laughing, and then he trips her and she falls and books and bag go flying. He scoops them up deftly, then as an afterthought, extends a hand to her.

"Underhanded!" she gasps indignantly, pulling herself up by the wall. "Underhanded!"

He shrugs, putting the untaken hand in his pocket. "Death Eater."

"That's not an excuse for everything, you know." She is half-serious, and he shrugs again, this time not so lightly.

"It's an excuse for most things."

And then she asks "Why are you doing this?"

He looks down. "To thank you."

"For what?"

_For helping me accomplish my task._ The irony is not lost on him- the one person in the world who has almost stopped him had helped him achieve the thing she would most hate.

He does not answer her, but instead smiles strangely, and inclines his head in the direction of the Ravenclaw dormitories, "Shall we?"

"Aren't you going to answer me?"

"Aren't you going to answer _me_?"

She shakes her head in exasperation, giving up, and they walk in silence for a while.

"Do me a favor, Chang," he says, as he walks her back to the tapestry, "stay in tonight, won't you?"

"Stay in? I can't. I've got a crazy Hufflepuff party to go to."

He is thrown off and slightly repulsed and misses her sarcasm entirely. "Really."

"Draco Malfoy," she gives him a look. " Since when do Hufflepuffs throw crazy parties, or that I go to them? Please. I intend to curl up with a good book tonight. And why would you care anyway?" Then something dawns on her, and her face changes. "Malfoy…nothing is going to _happen_ tonight, right?"

"Not that I know of," he lies. "Except maybe your crazy Hufflepuff party."

"No, I'm serious."

"So am I. I don't know, I think they're just going to be more vigilant about breaking curfew. Or something. Forget about it. Have fun at your party- maybe I'll crash it."

He hands her her book bag; she does not thank him.

Instead, she smiles at him, and he wants to tell her so many things, in that brief moment, but before he can say anything, she touches his face and he is silenced. "You look tired."

"I am," he admits.

"You should've gone to bed. You didn't have to walk me, I don't know why you did."

"Don't you?" he asks quietly, and the way he says it makes her cheeks red, and she looks down at the floor, but can't quite keep the smile off her face.

There is quiet, and in the interim, Draco Malfoy leans over and kisses Cho Chang gently on the forehead, because it's his way of saying good-bye.

* * *

"I know about the deal," he rasps, facing the fire. His shadow casts sinister darkness over the stone floor.

Snape stiffens and tries to hide his sudden anxiety. "My lord?"

Voldemort turns around, red eyes gleaming angrily, skin pale as death. "The deal, Severus, I know about the deal! Don't look so dumbfounded. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

Snape swallows and tries to think. _I'm done for_. "My lord, I-"

"You should have told me. I waited almost a year for you to tell me…a year, Severus! Actually, you shouldn't have made that deal in the first place and you knew that, didn't you?"

"I-" _How did he find out? No one else knew about what Dumbledore and I spoke of…_

"Will you let me speak?"

Snape shuts up, accordingly and keeps his eyes trained on the floor, waiting at any moment to be tortured or killed.

Voldemort appraises him, then waves his hand at him, turning back to the fireplace. "Well, it is no matter. I would have asked you to do it anyway."

Snape looks up, unable to conceal his confusion. _He would've asked me to make a deal with Dumbledore about killing him?_

At the silence, Voldemort continues. "You know just as well as I that the boy cannot do it- you know that he will fail. So I would've asked you to kill Dumbledore for me, but only as a last resort. We don't want you losing your Order membership unless absolutely necessary. And I wouldn't have made an Unbreakable Vow of the mess, but you've already done that, so there's no going back."

So it wasn't about Dumbledore's knowledge, and he, Snape, was safe. For now.

"But sir-"

"I know. You think you cannot kill Dumbledore either." Voldemort says quietly. "He's just a man. He isn't immortal, not like I am…he's just a man. You can and will do it."

Snape, having regained his senses, makes a short bow. "Yes, my lord. And what of the boy?" He tries to ask casually, but his voice can't quite obey.

"He will be killed."

"Killed? But-" _No, no, no. Dumbledore cannot sacrifice his life for a good as dead Draco Malfoy. _

"I cannot have a traitorous little Malfoy in my circle again, Severus! You know Lucius told."

"Yes, but my lord, Draco is not his father. He is eager to serve, sir, he is-"

"Eager to save his own neck, more likely. Like father, like son. We don't need him, Severus, I don't know why you're so quick to speak for him."

Snape thinks quickly and logically. "My lord, there are fewer and fewer recruits every year. Our resources are dwindling, the families-"

"I don't want to hear that the families are dying out. They aren't. I mean, look at this year's potential recruits…" Voldemort pauses, "…who are they?"

"Aviana's son Blaise…Theodore Nott…Vincent Crabbe…Gregory Goyle…and Draco Malfoy, sir."

"What, no girls?"

"It doesn't look like it, sir."

"No matter, I suppose. Girls are weak anyway."

"Yes, my lord."

"Severus, what is Malfoy the younger doing? What does he have planned?"

It costs Snape a lot to say it. "I don't know, sir."

"Why not?"

"He won't tell me."

"Well, whatever it is, Severus, make sure it works."

"It will, sir. It will." Snape does not want to believe his own words.

"Good. Now go back. They'll be missing you."

Snape thinks of how badly he wants to kill Voldemort right now. And how easy it could be if he could. But he does not because he knows his duty and because he knows he cannot.

* * *

Michael comes in about ten seconds after her. He won't look at her.

"Is something wrong?" she asks, after about fifteen minutes of silence.

"Don't do this," he says, quietly.

She is thoroughly confused. "Do what?"

"You know."

"Don't be ridiculous, Michael, I-"

And then he looks up. "I saw you. Walking here. He was holding your books."

She stops, swallows, and shrugs. "He was just being nice." She can hear herself getting defensive.

"Malfoy is never nice for no reason."

"Maybe he is."

"Maybe he is with you," Michael corrects.

She rolls her eyes. "It's nothing, I told you."

"I don't think it's smart of you to get involved like that."

"Involved like what?" Marietta has just come down from the girl's dorm, and her blue eyes are inquiring.

"Nothing." Cho shoots Michael a look. "Don't worry about it. Michael is just being unreasonable."

"_I'm_ being unreasonable? He's the son of Lucius Malfoy!"

"What?"

"_Nothing_, Marietta," says Cho, irritably.

"Will someone please tell me what the hell you two are blathering on about?"

Michael turns to her. "Malfoy. He's-"

"That blond Slytherin, yeah. What about him?"

"Nothing. I don't know why you both are making such a big deal of absolutely nothing." Cho tries to inject carelessness into her voice, but it just won't come.

"Cho likes him."

"_What?_"

"I don't!"

"She does."

"Why wasn't I told any of this?" asks Marietta accusingly.

"Because it isn't true. We're just-"

"Friends?" Marietta looks genuinely alarmed.

"Sure. Not even friends. Friendly acquaintances."

"He's a Slytherin," Michael scoffs.

Cho rounds on him at the same time Marietta does, and in unison they demand, "So?"

"So you're a Ravenclaw! Marietta, are you taking her side?" asks Michael incredulously.

"No, but…come on, Michael. Nobody really follows those silly House boundaries. The only people who do are Gryffindors and they only do that because they're close-minded and unintelligent," she says matter-of-factly.

"Hermione Granger is intelligent and she's in Gryffindor," points out Michael.

"She's intelligent _academically_. But she's just like the rest of them in other aspects. Gryffindors see things in black and white, Hufflepuffs see them in white, Slytherins see whatever they want to see, and we Ravenclaws see things in black, white, and gray."

"But we're not talking about-" he protests.

"We're talking about dating out of Houses," and Marietta adopts her annoying superior debate tone.

"Who said _anything_ about dating?" Cho demands, but neither of them will listen to her.

"Yes, we are talking about dating out of Houses, but people don't do it too often," argues Michael.

"What about Ginny Weasley?" Marietta asks pointedly.

"And look how that turned out."

She brushes his point away. "Well some people _do_ date successfully out of House."

"Like…?"

"Well," and she reverts a little bit, "I'm just saying that I think it might be good for Cho."

"I'm right here, Marietta," Cho says loudly.

"Oh right, sorry." She turns to Cho, and says earnestly. "I think it would be good for you."

"You think what would be good for her? Dating Malfoy?"

"Yes." She nods vehemently.

Cho throws her hands up in despair. "Once again, the dating thing. When did we ever say _anything _about-"

"How could that be good for her?" demands Michael

"Well, it would give her a chance to try something new. You know, not the general good heroic type guy who has a bad habit of getting himself into deadly situations."

"You think it's a good idea for Cho to date the son of a Death Eater in the midst of all that's happened this year?" asks Michael incredulously.

"What has happened this year?"

"Everything! Everything with You-Know-Who-"

"Please don't say that. You sound dumb."

"Fine. Everything with the Dark Lord and Dark activity, even in this school. Do you really think that it is a good idea for Cho to get mixed up in all that?"

"All what? No one is asking her to join them."

"First comes dating, then comes marriage, then comes-"

"The Dark Lord with a baby carriage?"

"Very funny. No, then comes membership."

"That was the most ridiculous point you have ever made, Michael Corner. You're completely missing the point here."

"I'm missing the point? The point being that Cho doesn't need to get involved with that shit?"

"The point being that it might be good for her to, you know, open up to someone a bit."

"I. Am. Right. Here," says Cho loudly.

"You're a Death Eater apologist, aren't you?"

"What?"

"You're a Death Eater apologist, Marietta."

"That's ridiculous. I am in no way defending any of their actions."

"Do you approve of their actions?"

"No."

"Then why would you want our friend dating the son of one?"

"Not everybody inherits family characteristics, you know."

"No, not everyone is like you, Marietta."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It means nothing. Forget I ever said anything. But don't say I didn't warn the both of you. Malfoy is a bastard through and through."

"Cho's a grown girl, Michael. I think she can handle herself."

"I wash my hands of everything. I'm going to bed. Good night." He gathers his things, and walks stormily to the boys' dorm.

Neither of the girls say anything.

"Cho-"

"No, Marietta, it's not true. I'm not at all interested in Malfoy."

"That's not what I was going to ask."

"Oh, sorry." She looks at Marietta expectantly.

"It's okay. No, I was just wondering…do you think I take after my mother?"

"Well, I think we all take a little bit after our parents, don't we?" Cho says carefully, knowing the strained relationship between the Edgecombes.

But Marietta hears what is unsaid, and buries her face in her hands. "Oh god. I'm turning into my mother."

"No, you aren't."

"But I am. Michael's right, he's always right."

"No, he's not."

Marietta shakes her head. "Did I tell you I told him?"

"You did?"

"It was terrible. It just sort of came out."

"He's been acting a little strange lately."

"He's uncomfortable around me. I'm uncomfortable around him."

"So I'm guessing it didn't go so well?"

"Of course not. I blundered through it completely. I basically told him that I hated myself for liking him because…"

"Because what?"

"Oh god Cho, I'm so ashamed…"

"What is it?"

"I told him I hated myself for liking a half-blood."

"Oh my god." She stares at her.

"I know! I'm not even like that, you know that. But it just came out. My mother's been getting to me."

"Marietta…"

"I know. I know what saying that makes me, and I wanted to throw up afterwards. But it just kept coming and coming. I couldn't stop. So now he thinks I'm a racist bitch."

"I'm sure-"

"No, I'm sure he doesn't understand. You didn't hear me, Cho. It was verbal garbage. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Did you apologize?"

"Of course. I don't think it made things better though."

"Well, I mean, what more can you do?"

"I don't know," she says miserably.

Cho rubs Marietta's arm sympathetically. "Don't worry about it. Everything will be okay."

"You think?"

"Yeah, definitely."

And Cho smiles reassuringly at her friend because she doesn't know how wrong she is.

* * *

As she passes by the entrance hall on the way to Dumbledore's office, she sees a tall, white-haired figure. "Oh, Professor Dumbledore!" she calls, walking towards him and rummaging through her bag at the same time.

He smiles at her. "Ah, Miss. Chang. What can I do for you?"

"Oh, nothing…it's just that I have your book, sir. Sorry it took so long, I kept forgetting to bring it to you." She holds it out to him, and he takes it.

He looks at it for a moment, turning the worn pages, then hands it back to her. "Well thank you. Actually, could you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"I'm on my way out- could you keep it for me until tomorrow?"

She takes the book back, and places in her bag again. "Okay, I'll do that."

"Thank you, Miss. Chang. Did you enjoy it?"

"I think…I think it changed me," she says, honestly.

He nods. "Most good books do."

Cho remembers her manners. "Thank you for lending it to me."

Dumbledore inclines his head ever so slightly. "It's my pleasure." He glances at his watch. "It's getting late, Miss. Chang. Perhaps you had better be off to your dormitory. We wouldn't want for Mr. Filch to catch you breaking curfew."

"No, we wouldn't. Have a good night, Professor."

"I will. You do the same, Cho."

She smiles at him, and turns to go, when something compels her to turn back, and say, "Professor?"

"Yes, Miss. Chang?"

She doesn't know what she means to say, but she means to say something, and she can't quite, so she says instead, "Nothing. Never mind. It's nothing."

Dumbledore nods and smiles as if he understands, and that's the image she leaves with. A smiling old man so obscured in darkness that his twinkling blue eyes and gold glasses- that he himself is quite lost in the black.

* * *

He comes down and sits next to her on the leather sofa. "Hey."

She gives him a smile, and pulls her legs up under her. "Hey."

"What are you up to?"

"I got invited to my cousin's wedding." And Pansy waves the calligraphy-ed parchment in Draco's face.

"Who?"

"Autumn Rosier."

"Autumn. Who's she marrying?"

"Jackson Rookwood."

"Jack. He's cool."

"He is. They'll have beautiful children."

"When is it?"

"July. I'm sure your family is invited. Want to be my date?"

"I'm not sure if I'll be free then, but if so, of course."

Pansy folds the invite back up, frowning. "Why wouldn't you be free?"

He avoids the question. He's getting good at that. "You're not doing anything tonight, are you?"

She shakes her head, and tucks a wayward piece of hair behind her ear. "No, I was going to go to bed early. I've got terrible dark circles for not sleeping this past week."

"Good."

"Why?"

"Just…make sure no one goes out tonight, okay?"

"Draco…"

"I can't say why exactly. Just trust me."

"But do that for me, won't you? Make sure no one goes out tonight."

"Okay."

"Thank you."

"Draco-"

"Yeah?"

"It…doesn't have to be like this, you know."

He smiles, then, a bitter bitter smile, and Pansy is struck cold inside. "But it does." he says, barely audible.

Later, on the top of a tower, he sends the Dark Mark into the night sky, and when he sees the glittering green against black, the skull, the snake, he knows he is lost and it does have to be like this.

* * *

She knocks on the door to the boys' dormitory. Anthony Goldstein opens it.

"Hey," he says, smiling.

"Hi Anthony. Could you get Michael? I need to talk to him."

"Sure."

Some minutes later, Michael comes to the door.

"Can I talk to you?" she asks.

"Go ahead," he says, folding his arms, and waiting.

"Can we go down to the common room? No one's there." When he says nothing, she sighs, and says, "Michael, I really want to talk to you."

He looks at her, then gives in. "Okay."

When they get downstairs, it takes a little while for either of them to speak.

"I know what Marietta said to you," is how Cho begins. She's a little surprised at herself, but she goes with it.

Michael looks at the floor. "She told you?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"You had nothing to do with it."

"I know, but I'm still sorry that you had to deal with that."

"It's just frustrating. You'd think people would get over the blood thing eventually. I mean, I think I'm more than my blood. I'm not my blood- that doesn't really make me. What makes me is more than that. I'm not _just_ a half-blood, you know?"

"I know what you mean."

"But you don't. Because you're pureblood, and so, no matter how ardently you can sympathize with me, you can never empathize with me. Because you can't understand. It's not your fault."

She is quiet for a bit. "Yeah, you're right."

"You know, that's why I hate that you're friends with Malfoy."

"We're not friends."

But Michael ignores her. "I know you don't care about blood or anything, but when you say that someone who does care about that kind of stuff is 'okay', it's like a kick in the balls to people like me. I mean, don't you have any qualms about hanging out with people who think that way? Doesn't it say something about you?"

"I hate that he thinks that way. I do. It sickens me if I think too much about it. But he needs…not me, he doesn't need me, but he needs someone to help him. He needs someone to show him that he's wrong."

"Oh, so, you're his personal savior."

"I'm not. But I think it's wrong to just write him off. And deep down, I don't think he believes any of it."

"You don't know that."

"No, but…"

"You have a hunch deep inside?" Michael asks sarcastically.

"I don't know. But I don't think he does."

"Forgive me, but I don't believe you."

"You don't have to. I believe me and that's enough, I think."

"Why do you believe you?"

"I don't know. I just…well, I've been talking to him for most of the year and…I don't know, I think he's better than that."

"You think or you hope?"

"Both."

"And what's your evidence for it besides your wishful thinking?"

She has to laugh. "I have none."

"No enlightening conversations or confessions?"

"God no. Our conversations kind of suck, actually."

"Really?"

"Yeah. We go around in circles. He's not exactly the world's greatest conversationalist."

"He couldn't be, as yours truly happens to hold that title."

She has to laugh.

Someone comes down the stairs.

Cho turns. "Luna."

The blonde girl has her wand in hand. "Oh hello, Cho, Michael. Are you two going as well?"

"Going where?" Michael asks.

"Oh, didn't you see? I guess the D.A.'s being reinstated, the Galleon said so."

"Really? What did it say?"

"Well, you know, it usually has a date and time on it, but right now, it just says 'RIGHT NOW'." And Luna pulls the enchanted Galleon out of her robe pocket and shows it to them.

"I guess we'd better go then," says Cho.

"Yeah, can't let the Gryffies get all the glory, can't we?" Michael says, standing up.

"I don't think we should go out all together. Filch is much more likely to catch us if we're all together," says Luna sensibly. "I'm going to go to the Room of Requirement. I think they'll be there. I'll message you on the coins when I find the rest."

"Sounds like a plan," agrees Cho. "We'll wait for your message."

"See you guys later!" And Luna waves before she goes.

"Michael, I'm going up to get my wand and my coin," she says, standing up.

"I guess I should do the same. Oh, Cho-"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell Marietta."

She smiles ruefully. "I wasn't going to."

"Good. Do you think that something has happened? I mean, it's just kind of random for them to restart so late in the year…"

Cho frowns. "Yeah, I guess something must have." She remembers what Draco said to her. "Oh god, something must have. We shouldn't wait for Luna, we just need to go."

"Why?"

"Draco Malfoy told me to stay in my dorm tonight. It's got to be something big. And if the D.A. is reforming tonight…it's not just a coincidence. Something is going to happen or has happened."

"Shouldn't Dumbledore be told, or something?"

"Yes, but he's…oh god. Dumbledore's out. He said he was going out tonight."

"McGonagall then."

"Yes, I'll go now. You need to go and find the other D.A. members."

"Will do. Be safe, Cho."

"You too, Michael." And then she's off to get her things, all the while asking herself how the hell everything managed to fall to pieces.

* * *

"_Expelliarmus_!" is what Draco shouts when he reaches the top, watching Dumbledore's wand go flying.

"Good evening, Draco," says Dumbledore rather calmly. Draco wants to hit him for his civility.

"Who else is here?" he asks curtly instead, taking a quick survey of the tower.

"A question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?"

"No, I've got backup," he says, almost tiredly. "There are Death Eaters here in your school tonight."

"Well, well. Very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Right under your nose and you never realized!" He shakes his head.

"Ingenious. Yet…forgive me…where are they now? You seem unsupported." He raises his white eyebrows quizzically.

"They met some of your guards. They're having a fight down below. They won't be long…I came on ahead. I- I've got a job to do." He swallows, and looks directly at him.

"Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy," Dumbledore says gently, and in that instant, Draco knows he cannot.

And so does Dumbledore, his voice soft. He smiles. "Draco, Draco, you are not a killer."

"How do you know?" he asks at once, _how do you know?_

He forces some bravado into his voice, but all he gets is desperation. "You don't know what I'm capable of. You don't know what I've done!"

"Oh yes, I do," Dumbledore says mildly, "You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts…So feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has been really in it."

"It has been in it!" he insists, defensively. "I've been working on it all year, and tonight-"

A yell from below interrupts them. Draco glances behind him.

"Somebody is putting up a good fight. But you were saying…yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school, which, I admit, I thought impossible…How did you do it?"

He ignored Dumbledore, listening intently to what was going on below.

"Perhaps you ought to get on with the job alone," suggests Dumbledore helpfully. "What if you backup has been thwarted by my guard? As you have perhaps realized, there are members of the Order of the Phoenix here tonight too. And after all, you don't really need help…I have no wand at the moment…I cannot defend myself."

Draco does not move.

"I see. You are afraid to act until they join you," Dumbledore says kindly, after a pause.

"I'm not afraid! It's you who should be scared!" Draco threatens emptily.

"But why? I don't think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe…So tell me, while we wait for you friends…how did you smuggle them in here? It seems to have taken you a long time to work out how to do it."

For some reason, Draco tells him. "I had to mend that broken Vanishing Cabinet that no one's used for years. The one Montague got lost in last year."

"Aaaah. That was clever…There is a pair, I take it?"

He nods. "In Borgin and Burkes, and they make a kind of passage between them. Montague told me that when he was stuck in the Hogwarts one, he was trapped in limbo but sometimes he could hear what was going on at school, and sometimes what was going on in the shop, as if the cabinet was traveling between them, but he couldn't make anyone hear him…In the end, he managed to Apparate out, even though he'd never passed his test. He nearly died doing it. Everyone thought it was a really good story, but I was the only one who realized what it meant- even Borgin didn't know- I was the one who realized there could be a way into Hogwarts through the cabinets if I fixed the broken one."

"Very good. So the Death Eaters were able to pass from Borgin and Burkes into the school to help you…A clever plan, a very clever plan…and, as you say, right under my nose."

"Yeah." Draco nods slowly, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. "Yeah, it was!"

"But there were times, weren't there when you were not sure you would succeed in mending the cabinet? And you resorted to crude and badly judged measures such as sending me a cursed necklace that was bound to reach the wrong hands…poisoning mead there was only the slightest chance I might drink…"

He shrugs. He notices Dumbledore sliding a little down the ramparts, and wonders why he is so weak tonight. "Yeah, well, you still didn't realize who was behind that stuff, did you?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. I was sure it was you."

Draco stares at the old man. "Why didn't you stop me then?"

"I tried, Draco. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders-"

"He hasn't been doing _your_ orders, he promised my mother-"

"Of course that is what he would tell you, Draco, but-"

"He's a double agent, you stupid old man, he isn't working for you, you just think he is!" snarls Draco, and then he is momentarily ashamed for losing his temper. He knows he can call Dumbledore a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them.

"We must agree to differ on that, Draco. It so happens that I trust Professor Snape-"

But this is really too much. Draco is incredulous and feels a bit sorry for the obviously duped Dumbledore. "Well, you're losing your grip then! He's been offering me plenty of help- wanting all the glory for himself- wanting a bit of that action- 'What are you doing?' 'Did you do the necklace, that was stupid, it could have blown everything-' But I haven't told him what I've been doing in the Room of Requirement, he's going to wake up tomorrow and it'll all be over and he won't be the Dark Lord's favorite anymore, he'll be nothing compared to me, nothing!" He gets lost in the glory for a moment, and it is Dumbledore's voice that brings him back to the present and to the task at hand.

"Very gratifying. We all like appreciation for our own hard work, of course. But you must have had an accomplice, all the same…someone in Hogsmeade, someone who was able to slip Katie the- the- aaaah…of course. Rosmerta. How long has she been under the Imperius Curse?"

"Got there at last, have you?"

"So poor Rosmerta was forced to lurk in her bathroom and pass that necklace to any Hogwarts student who entered the room unaccompanied? And the poisioned mead…well naturally, Rosmerta was able to poison it for you before she sent the bottle to Slughorn, believing that it was to be my Christmas present…Yes, very neat…very neat…Poor Mr. Filch would not, of course, think to check a bottle of Rosmerta's. Tell me, how have you been communicating with Rosmerta? I thought we had all methods of communication in and out of the school monitored."

"Enchanted coins. I had one and she had the other and I could send her messages-"

"Isn't that the secret method of communication the group that called themselves Dumbledore's Army used last year?"

"Yeah, I got the idea from them. I got the idea of poisoning the mead from the Mudblood Granger as well, I heard her talking in the library about Filch not recognizing potions."

"Please do not use that offensive word in front of me."

Draco stares at him and has to laugh. "You care about me saying 'Mudblood' when I'm about to kill you?"

"Yes, I do," says Dumbledore simply. "But as for being about to kill me, Draco, you have had several long minutes now, we are quite alone, I am more defenseless than you can have dreamed of finding me, and still you have not acted…"

Draco's mouth twists involuntarily.

"Now, about tonight. I am a little puzzled about how it happened…You knew I had left the school? But of course, Rosmerta saw me leaving, she tipped you off using your ingenious coins, I'm sure."

"That's right," nods Draco. "But she said you were just going for a drink, you'd be back…"

"Well, I certainly did have a drink…and I came back…after a fashion. So you decided to spring a trap for me?"

"We decided to put the Dark Mark over the tower and get you to hurry up here, to see who'd been killed. And it worked!"

"Well…yes, and no…But am I to take it, then, that nobody has been murdered?"

"Someone's dead. One of your people…I don't know who, it was dark…I stepped over the body…I was supposed to be waiting up here when you got back, only your Phoenix lot got in the way…"

"Yes, they do that…"

There were bangs and shouts coming from the spiral staircase.

"There is little time, one way or another. So let us discuss your options, Draco."

"_My_ options! I'm standing here with a wand- I'm about to kill you-"

"My dear boy, let us have no more pretense about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means."

"I haven't got any options!" says Draco, with more than a hint of desperation in his voice. "I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"

"I appreciate the difficulty of your position. Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew that you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort realized I suspected you."

Draco winces at the sound of his name, and hates himself for it.

"I did not dare speak to you of the mission with which I knew you had been entrusted, in case he used Legilimency against you. But now at last we can speak plainly to each other…No harm has been done, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims survived…I can help you, Draco."

Draco has never wanted to believe anyone so badly in his entire life.

"No, you can't," he says stubbornly. "Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice." He realizes he's shaking.

"He cannot kill you if you are already dead. Come over to the right side, Draco, and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother tonight to hide her likewise. Nobody would be surprised that you had died in your attempts to kill me- forgive me, but Lord Voldemort probably expects it. Nor would the Death Eaters be surprised that we had captured and killed your mother- it is what they would do themselves, after all. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban…When the time comes, we can protect him too. Come over to the right side, Draco…you are not a killer…"

Draco stares at Dumbledore.

"But I got this far, didn't I? They thought I'd die in the attempt, but I'm here…and you're in my power…I'm the one with the wand…You're at my mercy."

"No, Draco," says Dumbledore quietly. "It is my mercy, and not yours that matters now."

And Draco knows he is right. He lowers his wand.

And all of a sudden, footsteps are running up the stairs, and he is shoved out of the way by four Death Eaters.

One of them, a man with a lopsided leer lets out a strange giggle. "Dumbledore cornered! Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done, Draco, well done!"

"Good evening, Amycus," Dumbledore says politely. "And you've brought Alecto too…Charming…"

The woman, Alecto sneers. "Think your little jokes'll help you on your deathbed then?"

"Jokes? No, no, these are manners," Dumbledore replies, just as cordially.

"Do it," Fenrir Greyback says to Draco.

"Is that you, Fenrir?" Dumbledore asks.

"That's right," he growls. "Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?"

"No, I cannot say that I am."

Fenrir grins, and licks the blood trickling down his mouth obscenely. "But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore."

"Am I to take it that you are attacking even without the full moon now? This is most unusual…You have developed a taste for human flesh that cannot be satisfied once a month?"

"That's right. Shocks you that, does it, Dumbledore? Frightens you?"

"Well, I cannot pretend it does not disgust me a little. And yes, I am little shocked that Draco here invited you, of all people, into the school where his friends live…"

"I didn't," says Draco suddenly, "I didn't know he was going to come-"

"I wouldn't want to miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore," rasps Fenrir. "Not when there are throats to be ripped out…Delicious, delicious…"

And Draco imagines those yellow claws ripping open Pansy or Cho, and he wants to vomit.

"I could do you for afters, Dumbledore," Fenrir is saying.

"No," says one of the Death Eaters, a brutal-faced man. Draco can't remember his name. "We've got orders. Draco's got to do it. Now, Draco, and quickly."

Draco can't move. Dumbledore is slipping down the wall.

"He's not long for this world anyway, if you ask me!" says Amycus gleefully. "Look at him- what's happened to you, then, Dumby?"

"Oh, weaker resistance, slower reflexes, Amycus. Old age, in short…One day, perhaps, it will happen to you…if you are lucky…" says Dumbledore, but his breaths are shorter and shorter.

"What's that mean, then, what's that mean? Always the same, weren't yeh, Dumby, talking and doing nothing, nothing. I don't even know why the Dark Lord's bothering to kill yer! Come on, Draco, do it!" sneers Amycus.

"Now, Draco, quickly!" says the brutal-faced man impatiently as the melee got louder on the staircase.

But his hand is shaking, he's shaking, and he can't move.

"I'll do it," snarls Fenrir, moving quickly towards Dumbledore.

"I said no!" shouts the brutal-faced man, hurling a spell at Fenrir.

"Draco, do it or stand aside so one of us-" screams Alecto, but the doors burst open, and Severus Snape is there, wand in hand.

"We've got a problem, Snape, the boy doesn't seem able-" begins Amycus, but Snape pays no attention to him.

"Severus…" _You know what you need to do._

Snape walks to Dumbledore and for a moment, he thinks he cannot do it.

"Severus…please…"

And Severus Snape looks Albus Dumbledore in the eyes, and kills him.

* * *

The fight has spilled out of the school and onto the grounds. Cho is dodging curses from a dark-haired Death Eater by the school gates, and she's trying to get him, but he is too quick for her, and escapes. She turns, only to see most of the Death Eaters running away from the school so they could Disapparate off grounds. She starts sending curses at them, but most of them are able to avoid them. Suddenly, she sees an all-too familiar blond boy running towards her.

Time stands still for a moment- just a moment, and they look at each other.

"Draco, what did you do?" she whispers.

He is breathing heavily and the way he's looking at her makes her want to cry. "I…I wish that things were different. I swear I didn't mean it for it to be like this."

And then he's gone, gone into the forest, the night, the utter darkness, and she can see him no longer.

* * *

When all the Death Eaters have escaped, and the fighting is over, she somehow makes her way back to the castle. There is a mass of people gathered around something under the tallest tower. She spots Michael at the fringe. He looks pretty bad, robes ripped, with some cuts on his face.

"Michael," she says, and he embraces her.

She hugs back, and when they're done, she says, "What's there?" nodding towards the center of the crowd.

"I don't know." Michael pushes his way through first and Cho follows. He stops, rather suddenly when he gets to the front, and turns to her, his face the palest she's ever seen. "Cho, it's- maybe you shouldn't-"

But she has already pushed ahead of him, and what she sees is Albus Dumbledore, spread-eagled on the grass, dead.

A phoenix sings somewhere in the distance. She can't help but collapse.

* * *

"It's the old man's funeral today," says Bellatrix conversationally at breakfast.

Everybody looks up at her except for Snape and Voldemort.

"That's nice. No one cares." Nott says, going back to cutting his bacon.

Her eyes shoot daggers at him, but she turns to Voldemort.. "My lord, wouldn't it be the perfect opportunity to-"

"Attack them? No." Voldemort motions for one of the House-Elves to refill his coffee.

"But my lord, think about it. Everyone would be so vulnerable-"

"Don't be stupid, Bellatrix," Snape cuts in coldly. "All the Aurors will be there. The Order will be there. What makes you think it will be so easy?"

"Are insinuating, Severus, that we are no match for some two-bit Aurors and the Order? Or are you just trying to protect your _friends_?"

"The Dark Lord knows where my loyalties lie, Bellatrix. Don't you trust him?"

"Of course I trust him. I just don't trust you."

"Enough children," Voldemort says dryly, "you know I dislike bickering at mealtimes."

"But my lord-" Bellatrix starts.

"I said, enough. Severus killed Albus Dumbledore in my name. He has my trust because I have his allegiance. Is that clear?" Voldemort looks straight at Bellatrix.

She looks down as she mumbles, "Yes, my lord."

"Good. Now let's talk of something less tedious, shall we? Rosier, your daughter is getting married, isn't she?"

"Yes, sir, my little Autumn to Jack Rookwood. It's a summer wedding…" and he goes on, but Draco has stopped listening because he has decided that he wants to go to Dumbledore's funeral.

So he finishes his breakfast, and asks Voldemort for permission to go and see his mother. Voldemort assents readily, and Draco goes to get his broom and cloak. When Draco is gone from the table, Voldemort leans over to Snape, and says quietly. "Take my Invisibility Cloak and follow him."

Snape, as usual, obeys.

* * *

He watches the funeral from the Forbidden Forest, completely unaware that Snape is within feet of him.

When the last mourner has left, and when twilight falls, Draco Malfoy goes to pay his respects at the white tomb.

He walks slowly, haltingly, making sure no one is around. When he gets there, he is silent for some time.

"I'm sorry," is all he says, is all he can say, "I'm sorry."

The stars come out, and Draco stays by Dumbledore's side for a very, very long time.

That night, while he sleeps, Draco Malfoy dreams of a phoenix rising from its own ashes, living and dying and living and dying and living again.

For some strange, twisted reason, he begins to hope.

* * *

After the attack, things are hard at Hogwarts.

Cho spends most days in a daze, with Michael or Marietta. They are beautiful days, full of sun and sky, but barely anyone notices them. She lies in the grass, and just closes her eyes most days, willing for everything to be a dream.

When days are particularly hard, she goes to the Room of Requirement and sits there, to remember and to grieve. Some days, she goes flying.

At the funeral, she comes to terms with the fact that Dumbledore is dead and Draco Malfoy helped him to his death.

She wants desperately to cry, but it doesn't seem fitting. Not to Dumbledore, who firmly believed in happy endings, and not to Draco Malfoy, who didn't. So she holds her tears in and tries desperately not to die inside.

It's hard for her to say goodbye to the castle. Hard because it is the place where she has spent some of her happiest days, hard because it is where Cedric Diggory was, hard because it was where Draco Malfoy was. Hard because she played Quidditch there, hard because she studied with Michael there, hard because she had met Marietta there. Hard because she was going into a much bleaker world.

But she manages it, somehow.

The last place is the white tomb.

She has become extraordinarily good at talking to dead people.

"I didn't bring flowers," she tells him, "because look, the place is heaped with them, and nobody's thought to clear them, and they're all dying, and dying flowers are so sad. I know you wouldn't mind, Professor. You understand."

She places the one thing she has brought with her on the tomb.

"I'm not leaving this here. I'm not leaving this here because god knows what will happen to it if I do. I'm keeping it for you, like you asked, Professor, until..."

She has to blink, and she closes her eyes because it's easier. "Anyway. I thought you might like a visit from it. I wish we had gotten to share more romance novels. I was actually starting to warm to the genre. You've convinced me." She smiles for no one.

"Though, in terms of literary criticism and all that, _technically_ I don't think one can consider this book a romance novel. It's really about…well, I guess I don't really know what it's about. It's not really about love, though. It's about so much more."

She flops down on the green grass because she feels like. "And I know you'd probably disagree, because you definitely belong to the Love Is The Be-All and End-All school of thought…hell- ooh, excuse my language, Professor, you probably ran it. But I think you're wrong. There is so much more to life than love. It takes so much more than that to live."

"I'm off tangent. I didn't mean to get off tangent. What I meant to say was that we're quite lost without you. And thank you. For everything."

She stays, a little longer, because the sky is blue and the sun is out. Because it's a beautiful day and because she can't tear herself away.

It isn't until she's sitting on the Hogwarts Express that she realizes, for the first time, she called him Draco.

Alone in the compartment, she puts her head in her hands and finally cries. She cries for Dumbledore. For uncertainty and for loss. She cries for Draco Malfoy, and she cries for herself. And most of all, she cries for everything that might have been, and everything that was.

* * *


End file.
